After the planning session, Nissa suggested everyone go back to the city together, rent rooms in the tavern and continue the next day. Separate rooms, of course. But Aren took the moment to think about the proposal. In the real world, it should be almost midnight, if not past midnight. Normally, at 7 AM, he would be pulled out of the virtual world for a two hour battery of tests and unimaginable pain. There was no reason for him to go to the tavern. Furthermore, this time he was pulled out earlier. Did that mean his clock reset?

More than anything, ever since the last time he met Priscilla, and got into the wider world of Singularity, he felt as if things were finally changing for the better. Even the malfunctioning cybernetic-inhabiting AI — which turned out to be an AGMI — had made its presence known.

All the talk of future plans made Aren wonder what exactly it was that waited for him in the future — in this world, and the real world. Would he be a lab rat forever? An experiment? What did Ermin Saltzer mean by ‘we will do great things together’ or whatever it was that he said — Aren couldn’t remember the exact details, courtesy of being maxed out on morphine and the pain chart.

The way he saw it, he had a good fourteen hours in this world to figure some things out, instead of waiting in a tavern, pretending to be asleep. So he excused himself without providing a clear reason. Surprisingly, no one raised any objections, wished him a good night and left.

In the light of the early dawn, Aren took a stroll through the old ruins. Goblinoids weren’t active at day — not in large groups anyway. They weren’t weak, by any stretch of the imagination, but their advantage was in the dark. They weren’t very smart, though, but smart enough to not fight without advantages.

Because of this, Aren managed to explore the ruins of the old city in peace. There was a good reason, in his mind, for doing so. Nissa explained to him some of the basics of the Spellblade class — in case anyone asked him questions — and it turned out that Spellblade was a modern class offered by the Striker Guild. Strikers were the quintessential monks, fighting in cloth armor or leather armor, with fists. There were other varieties of Strikers, such as Zealots, Purgers, Spell Strikers, Psychic Warriors and so on. Of course, the Spellblade also.

But this was not always so. The Spellblade had its roots in the Nightblade class; it was once offered by the Rogue Guild, before the Trainer of the Class joined the Strikers, having apparently found new meaning in life. Before that, the Nightblades were Shadowblades, and they invented the shadow blade. Shadowblades were trained by a secret, hidden guild, but a certain alliance of players had taken the best parts of the class’s skill set, and fused it with the standard Rogue, to create potent killing machines — the Nightblade. Obtaining the Nightblade class was difficult but not impossible, because the Trainer did not teach the class anymore, but instead taught Spellblade. Learning it from another adventurer was now the only option. But what would happen if the Trainer, Elzo Lunare, had Beloved rapport with a potential student? Nissa told Aren that Elzo was notoriously difficult to make happy. His moods changed so often that what increased reputation one day, might undo a whole week of progress the next day. This is likely why he hopped Guilds so often — Singularity was dynamic and unpredictable like that.

Setting the idea of training with Elzo aside, Aren considered the area carefully, surveying the surroundings.

With its roots in both magic and rogue tradition, Spellblades were hunters. They could track enemies, find them with divination, and they were excellent on the social side of things, able to extract information from both friendly and unfriendly participants of a conversation. They were excellent at both magical and mundane stealth. On the other hand, they could not carry heavy armor, their strength and endurance developed slowly — although this was a matter of debate, as character growth was a mystery in Singularity — and could not learn complex magic.

After spending an hour on a crumbling rooftop, Aren came to one of two conclusions: Either he was terrible at this, or the Lightning Blade was nothing like the Spellblade. First of all, he did not have a tracking skill at all. He could not even see his own tracks, unless he tried really hard. But he assumed that the skill would activate as some sort of interface enhancement. Maybe a silhouette or something. There was absolutely nothing.

Second of all, Aren did not know how to cast magic. Using [Flash] earlier was purely coincidence, or so he convinced himself. He regretted not saving his action as a macro, but it was too late now. So, divination was also out.

And stealth? Considering how the ambush went, he wasn’t so sure of himself. He had no idea what he was doing — it was completely different from the feeling he had swinging a sword. Swordsmanship came like second nature, like muscle memory, as if he had been doing it for years. It was the strangest thing, but didn’t raise any questions at the time. Where did that knowledge come from? Why was he able to move like that? And with such confidence, too!

The Lightning Blade came with several skills, but Aren suspected that many of them were still undiscovered or locked behind something else.

The main abilities were as follows:

[Primary Abilities]

Lightning Blade

Lightning Manipulation

Vessel-Breaker Palm

Reaping Sword

[Secondary Abilities]

Basic Swordsmanship

Basic Hand to Hand Combat

Lightning Generation

Damage Assessment

All the skills worked in synergy with each other. For example, to produce the [Flash] technique earlier, he required Lightning Generation — a collection of breathing techniques to generate to produce Lightning Energy — and Lightning Manipulation to sheathe his sword in Lightning. Then he required Lightning Blade to enhance his body, to move at incredible speeds. Lastly, the Reaping Sword and Basic Swordsmanship provided the method and knowledge to move his body and inflict damage.

Considering the required synergy, Aren came to another conclusion. His Lightning Blade was not a Spellblade. More precisely, it did not share the same root — the Shadowblade. At the very least, it did not come from the Nightblade.

Perhaps in the future, as his mastery of the class improved — currently he was at the Initiate level — he would learn more abilities that would prove him wrong — such as tracking or divination magics — but for now he was fairly certain that the Lightning Blade either did not come from Shadowblade, or that it was a second generation class, like Nightblade, but diverged somehow. After all, it was a Unique Class, implying that he was the only one who possessed it. But that did not make much sense, because Priscilla also possessed it, and as far as he knew, Singularity made no special distinctions between denizens and adventurers. Denizens could also have reputations, become famous and join clans. What they could not do was create clans or alliances — although Guilds were fair game. Denizens and adventurers could tell each other apart based on some extra-sensory perception, like an aura, that neither were completely aware of. But suffice to say, they could recognize each other by intuition.

Finally, the conclusion brought Aren to the more pertinent question, and its conclusion as well. The line he saw — the path of his cut — was not part of his abilities. Aren intuitively knew what both Lightning Blade and Reaping Sword were capable of. Death Lines, as Aren now called it, were not part of it.

It had to be Leviathan’s doing. And not just the Death Line, but his first [Flash] as well, and how he opened the buffer. Now, try as he might, he could not even touch his buffer. Even if he could, he had no idea what to do with it. When people said to stay away from NPC classes, they really meant it. There were no instructions, and he had to experiment to learn anything, except he couldn’t even experiment without the buffer.

The buffer was everything for magic. It was the calculation space necessary to manipulate reality with planar energies, and supernatural effects. Even Priests needed it for their divine magics. Rogues needed it too for their supernatural stealth. Virtually every class needed it.

The group’s entire plan relied on Aren proving himself as a strong adventurer, but how would he do that if he could not even access his most basic ability? What were all of them giving up their fortunes for, buying him a shadowblade, if all of it would be for nothing?

And still, despite his gloomy mood, in the clear, beautiful morning, the one option he had remaining quietly, but surely, tingled in the back of his mind.

He felt his heartbeat rise, his body temperature increased, and, without a doubt, his pupils dilated. Fear, clear and simple. He was afraid of both possibilities: an answer and no answer. Neither of them spelled good things for the future.

But what did he have to lose? He would never achieve his goal the way he was now.

“Leviathan,” he spoke calmly, and he felt his knees trembling. “Can you teach me how to use Flash?”

For a long time, no answer came. There was the chirping of the birds, the distant rustle of the wind through moss-covered ruins, and the occasional phantom footstep that was the work of imagination and nothing real.

But then, a Death Line appeared in Aren’s vision, and he became afraid even more than he was before.

Aren could not hear the AGMI’s voice, read its tone or feel its intent, but he could sense a great deal of malevolence in that simple instruction. Whatever Leviathan was, Aren perceived it as something tyrannical, cold and malevolent. Whether this was what Leviathan truly was, or an incarnation of Aren’s fear, only time would tell. But for now, Aren decided to follow the line.

Aren was like in a trance. He did not just move, he moved as if he was in battle. He held an invisible, imaginary lightning blade, as he hopped from crumbling roof, to collapsing roof, following the line as if at the end of which awaited someone’s inevitable death.

Leviathan’s explanation didn’t make immediate sense to Aren, but he quickly understood the meaning. As Aren moved, in combat, he felt the charge Leviathan referred to. Lightning Energy. He felt it move through him, passively improving his speed, reactions and agility. All traits important to Rogues, Aren realized, as he jumped from the roofs and onto the ruined pavement. Perhaps there was a connection between Nightblade and Lightning Blade after all?

“Seek the path…” Aren murmured in his trance. His eyes became half-lidded and his buffer opened itself to him. It was like becoming aware of another sense, or another dimension. It was entirely metaphysical, but real. More than that, he had the sensation of having a bird’s eye view on his surroundings. He could see the red Death Line sprawl before him, wind through the streets, spiral around ruins and continue onwards, seemingly going on forever.

Aren’s jumps had begun to defy gravity, as he hung in the air for much longer with each agile, bounding step. He turned and weaved through the air, truthfully following the path of least resistance. Without even knowing it, his body had become enhanced by lightning. The Lightning Energy stimulated his nerves and muscles, expanded his vision through vibrations in the electromagnetic spectrum, and further honed his senses. Time slowed down, and everything moved both fast and slow. Everything around him became slower, but he himself was moving faster.

Before he was even aware of it, he intuitively channeled energy into his buffer, and connected to the path. The blast of sound as he became a lightning bolt and split air molecules apart — creating ozone — crumbled several of the ruined buildings around him and culminated with an ominous notification.

[Injury inflicted. Severity: Fatal]

Lightning sparked around his right hand, which he held in a knife shape, and behind him, a headless goblin lay on the ground. The head? Aren could not even find it.

[You have discovered a new Vessel-Breaker Palm technique: Lightning Cleaver]

The whole experience startled Aren out of his trance and he shuddered to the very core. He immediately checked his surroundings and realized that he was alone — his unfortunate victim appeared to have been a lonely scout, or scavenger. He would probably never find out.

More importantly, he struggled with a cocktail of new emotions: Fear of Leviathan’s existence and influence, respect and gratitude for Leviathan’s assistance, and awe and excitement about his new ability. He was not confident he could do it again, but at the very least, this time he remembered the feeling of how he did it. If he practiced — looking at the sky, he realized he had between ten to twelve hours to do so — he could perhaps learn how to open the buffer and manipulate the path — how he perceived [Flash] — before his future clanmates woke up.

With a triumphant smile, he walked over to the goblin’s corpse and helped himself to the creature’s short sword. For the first time in a very long while, Aren had hope.