Johnson was fine. Soaked in the blood of an Asura, he had healed.

I forgot I could do this. Oops.

“You cannot lose yourself like that, little star, for fucks sake. I'm stuck in here too.” The lord was a little scared, “We need to improve your mental strength somehow. Go read some books or something after this test is over.”

My body reformed, and after consuming the blood of hundreds of iron beasts, My armor became a red metal, both the armor and my skin hardening immensely. My sword arm now gone, turned into sword fingers. One finger a thrusting sword, two fingers a katana, three fingers a broadsword, 5 fingers a great sword. Its power, its sharpness, its speed, all greatly improved. My wings subtly become more bird-like and metallic. My tail gaining strength and defense along with being able to now form weapons made of metal. My entire body was now nearly as much metal as it was blood.

“Dude, what the hell was that?” questioned Johnson quietly, his face showing a stunned expression.

“I told you I was a beast. I used my blood to attract a few. It may have worked too well.”

He nodded slowly, “And the bloody geyser you became?”

“Just an ability of mine, along with the healing. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“You’re not a mage are you?” he questioned.

“No.”

“Promise?”

“Yes.” I affirmed I was not a mage.

“Well, we better get to it, you just ate all of our cores. Just save us at least 5 each, you can eat all the rest.” He took all the information in with a great deal of adaptability. I’m not sure how, but it seems he could strengthen his mind to the extreme when he needed to. A genius in his own, unique, way.

An instructor landed; it was the one in front of the mage tower. A kindly woman with a cloud beneath her feet.

“Are there any issues here?” She was not threatening, merely curious.

“No issues here ma’am.” Johnson answered for me. Good looks and all, the woman was appeased by him.

“Well, keep it up, Johnson.” She said fondly to him, giving me a brief glance before she practically teleported away in a flash of light.

“Did you know her?” I questioned him. Surprised she even knew his name.

“That woman…not personally. She was once a teacher of my sister, I’m guessing.” He shrugged it off, and kept on walking. I followed behind. A few hours had gone by in the whole fiasco.

We quickly got 10 more cores, with me eating a few more for a snack. As the final hour ticked down, me and Johnson sat there and told stories.

“And so, then my dad said, ‘I wish you were born a cripple, so at least you had an excuse to be so weak.’” Johnson told a lot of very sad stories.

A cleared my throat, “Once, I encountered a Cult of Necromancers, those who worshiped the dead…” just as I began my horror story, a panicked man burst through the trees.

“Help! They’re trying to steal my cores! Help!” He wailed pathetically. He was shot in the leg, and was currently limping. “You…” he stopped, and stared at Johnson in a look of horror. A large, bearded man like this, afraid of Johnson?

“Barbos.” He responded curtly.

I could tell this man, Barbos, and Johnson had some sort of feud. He was injured and begging for help, yet a tense awkwardness dispersed through the air. It was finally broken by a group of pursuers.

“Eeeep!” Barbos squealed and hid behind me.

It was a small ragtag group of gunmen. They saw us, and threatened us at gunpoint, asking for our cores. I lifted a finger, but Johnson stood up. He moved without a word, breaking the distance. Up close, these gunmen were at the mercy of a decent swordsman with augmentations like Johnson. They were shooed off like little vermin, by the hero.

The entire thing wasn’t even off note.

What happened afterwards definitely was.

“Lord Johnson! I am your humble servant. Please punish me for my earlier transgressions!” Barbos made himself a servant of Johnson suddenly.

“Never mind, just go.” He waved his hand lazily, feeling quite proud of his heroics.

“Lord Johnson, I only have 3 cores….”

“What kind of servant are you? Immediately asking for more favors?” Johnson chided and sighed, but stood up. He was clearly moved by the title of “lord” given to him by this man. He looked at me, and we went off to grab a few more cores in the last hour.

“Lord Johnson. Lord John. Thank you!” He made me a lord as well.

We made our way back to the meeting spot, each carrying 5 cores. Johnson was now using Barbos as a mount. I didn’t question things here anymore; all the people were too strange.

They quickly announced the tournament rules.

“Each fight will be one on one. You may not use outside help. Other than this, there are no rules. Good luck.” This time announced the hammer wielding test proctor.

The arena formed quickly out of nowhere, a specialty of this world was its ability to manipulate metal to such a degree. There were a few hundred left out of what was originally thousands. Many showed visible relief making it to this stage. They had now passed the guild test. Even the worst would still be a D-grade mercenary.

The first battle was between the mage and another man, a spear user. The man showed an easy-going expression, cupping his fists.

“Take it easy on me, brother mage.”

The Mage said nothing.

“Begin!” announced the proctor.

The spear man lunged forward, a standard probing attack. The mage raised his hand, a cold mist enveloping the man, turning him into ice. Seconds later, he cracked into pieces.

Dead.

The crowd similarly froze.

How quickly this man was killed. It seems they all made a crucial mistake. They could still be killed in the tournament, and most importantly, there was still a mage, who killed others instantly with a decisive cruelty.

I see now. That's why everyone hated mages.