He felt many hands on him, grabbing him and carrying him down a hallway following twists and turns before he was finally set down still attached to the top of the examination table. He was strapped and helpless but now at least vertical so that he could look around.

Tim gazed around the room and got a better look at the various people present. He counted six men and two women, and most were in the range of forty to sixty, other than the guards who had brought him into the room. Although he could only see two of the guards, he could hear two more behind him, presumably guarding the door. As for the others, he assumed they were council he had heard about.

“Pardon me. I know you have every reason to be upset with me, even if I don’t know why the events happened, but is it safe to assume that this is the leadership council of the guild?” Tim asked.

Charles coughed into his hand and then said, “Yes, it is, or at least the council for the Terran branch.”

“And excuse me a moment more, but then are you all the ones who will decide my fate?”

Charles laughed this time. “Well, Simon did say that you were full of questions.” He shook his head. “Bound up, helpless as a captive, but still prodding and seeking answers. Well, I can respect that, so I will give you a bit of explanation, on your word that after that you will submit to testing and stop with the questions.”

Tim nodded in agreement, so Charles continued, “The book which is open on the pedestal before you is an artifact linked to 3 similar artifacts in each of the other guildhalls. The artifact as a whole is called the Book of Names. It has recorded the name of every sojourner down to the 40th generation for the past two thousand five hundred years since the first sojourners. If there were any before that time, then we have no idea who they were.

By placing your hand on the book, it will scan you. This will allow it to record your class and level. The book will forge a link with you and automatically update as you level to display an accurate accounting of your current capabilities. The testing will also provide you some basic understanding of your class and its beginning skills or spells.

Beyond the basics, you will obtain training from the instructors here if you decide to stay as an active guild member. Otherwise, you can go out into the world and practice one of the mundane classes. Now, it is time for you to take the test. We will unbind you now, but know that if you do anything other than what we say, you will be dropped where you stand.”

Tim felt the straps holding him as they were released. He was able to step away from the exam tabletop and was now within a single pace of the large open book in front of him. He studied it for a second. It was fully two feet high and three feet wide. The pages were covered in an ornate, sprawling script, and the corners were bound in silver and inlaid with runes and gems.

He looked around and saw that everyone had hands on weapons or held out their hands towards him. It appeared that Charles was not taking any chances. From what he remembered of his new character sheet, he had no skills that would help in this situation, and he had no delusions about being able to run away before they could hit him. He had felt the electric power of the one called Armon and was in no hurry for a repeat.

Still, his mind was racing. He tried to weigh up the risks of touching the book. He couldn’t tell if any of the people from Cal-Dakota to Charles had told him the truth, but he also couldn’t tell if any of them had lied to him. The real question was how he wanted to handle this. A part of him said this was a dream still… or a nightmare.

Of course, he had never read a litrpg or watched an anime without wondering what it would be like to live in that world, but it wasn’t like he ever really believed it could happen. The more he thought about it, the more he decided to just treat this as if it were really happening. Maybe if he threw himself into this fully, he wouldn’t keep upsetting everyone around him.

There was one last thing before being tested: he needed to assign his stat points. It wouldn’t do to take a test at anything other than his best. Again, his eyes glossed over as he called up his status sheet. He had to assume based upon the stats that he already had, as well as class name, that in this current form he was more of a melee fighter. That was probably for the best. Magic was cool and all, but he had little in the way of knowledge about how to use it.

He applied 10 points into Hardiness, 5 to Flexibility, and because he hoped it would make a difference with how he related to others, 4 into Sagacity. Just as before, he felt the shifts in his being as he became more than any human on Earth had ever been. The changes hit him harder as they were more physical than mental this time.

“No more delaying, just take the test, so that you can be one of us,” Charles said.

Tim wasn’t happy about it, but dream or new life, he didn’t see any other choice. He reached out and put his hands on the sides of the book. In a flash, he felt like his mind was being pulled out of his head to swirl around like water draining from a bathtub.

An instant later, he found himself in an arena. The rows of seats around were filled with men, women, and children all looking on. They were cheering wildly and calling out his name. Tim looked down at his feet and found that there were more than a dozen men all lying around in various states of completeness. Some had lost arms, some legs, and others were headless, but the one thing they all shared in common was that they were all dead.

In his hand, he held a long sword, and as he watched, blood slowly ran along the blade, down its edge, and dripped upon the ground. He didn’t recall it, but he knew that somehow, he had slain all of these men.

Then trumpets sounded, and men he knew to be arena slaves came running out and started dragging away the fallen. Tim looked up at the audience box, which was elevated above the rest, and the source of the trumpets. A man in a white toga stood up and yelled out, “Timothy Stein, Sojourner of Terra, you have passed the initial trials and shall be allowed the chance to test your mettle against the champion of the arena. May the strongest prevail.”

From the far end of the arena, an iron gate raised up, and a man stepped forth from a dark tunnel. The audience began to chant even louder now. A few faintly called out his name, but most were yelling, “Serpius! Serpius! Serpius!” Tim assumed that was the name of the arena champion—and apparently, his opponent.

The man could certainly put on a show. He walked around the arena floor and waved his twin swords in the air. Finally, he turned his eyes to Tim and bowed with a flourish of his swords. “I salute you, warrior. Know that your death today shall be upon the blades of Serpius, the twelve-time champion of the New Roman coliseum.”

Tim found himself shifting into a fighting stance with his right side forward, sword in hand and raised up into what he instinctively knew was a defensive posture. Serpius waved for him to come, but Tim decided to hold his place. He would wait and fight on his own terms rather than at the beck and call of his enemy.

“You are a quiet one. Perhaps caution has been your ally up to this point, but the people want a good show. Please don’t die too quickly, or you will disappoint the audience.” With that, the man charged forward. He lashed out with one blade, and Tim found that without thinking his own sword rose up, and he had no trouble blocking the blade.

No sooner had he smiled at the successful block than Serpius spun around him, and a quick flicking strike of the second sword went across his cheek. Tim cursed himself for a fool. He knew the man had 2 weapons, and yet he had been so self-congratulatory about stopping what had clearly been a feint that he ignored the real attack. Probably the only reason that he was still alive was that the man likely wanted to play with what he perceived to be his prey.

After that, Tim settled in and tried to get serious. He knew that the swordsmanship skill had been programmed into him, but still, it was not easy. For every killing blow he blocked, he would take a shallow biting cut from the other blade. He might block five or even ten slashes in a row, but eventually, one of the two sword tips would find an opening. His mind raced as he tried to outthink his opponent, yet strangely, the enemy's sword was always faster than his thoughts.

As he stood there, bleeding from a dozen small cuts, he tried to think of a way out of this. Defense wasn’t working for him, so maybe it was time to go on the offense. He timed his opponent’s swings, watched for a pattern, and then, just as he thought he saw one, he lunged forward with a powerful thrust meant to pierce Serpius’ guard and put a blade into his heart.

It all happened in slow motion as he realized all too late that he had been set up. The rhythm that he had studied so hard to detect had been a carefully laid trap, lulling him into a sense of confidence for the very reason that the man wanted him to thrust, wanted him to overcommit.

Tim paid the price as one slashing sword blow bit deeply into his right arm, cutting tendon and muscle along the top of his forearm. Try as hard as he might, he couldn’t maintain the grasp upon his sword, and it fell to the sand five feet away, almost as if he had thrown it. The insult came as another blow from the other sword cut across the back of his left leg, cutting deep into the hamstring and sending him to the ground in a yowling clump.

Serpius took the time to enjoy the praise of the audience. He obviously felt like Tim was no threat to him—and why should he. Tim had been played like a fiddle, moving exactly as the other fighter wanted. Still, this was life and death, and Tim might not be the better swordsman, but he would not be known as the man that gave up.

He first crawled to his sword and grasped the bloody handle in his left hand. It felt odd there, out of place with all the training that he had done. From there, he used the sword as a brace and managed to make it to his feet. His left leg could barely support any weight, but it was enough to keep him standing.

Tim laughed in despair, and Serpius looked at him strangely. Perhaps he assumed that the pain and impending death had broken Tim’s mind, and sadly he wouldn’t have been that far from the truth. Still, Tim looked on with the intensity of his will to live.

“What’s so funny?” Serpius asked.

How Tim wanted to laugh and declare for all that he laughed because what Serpius didn’t know was that he was not right-handed. Still, it would have been a lie. For he was very much right-handed. Truthfully, before being yanked to this new world, Tim had never held a sword in his hand unless you counted video games.

“If you have some joke, please share it with all of us so that we may be entertained,” Serpius taunted.

No, that wouldn’t work. He had to think of something else. He desperately tried to think of any last-ditch move he could make. There was that word: entertained. It was what Cal-Dakota had said. Tim’s anger swelled within him, but the word also triggered memories of movies. Fight movies… kung fu movies… heroic movies. He searched his memories for any technique that would claim victory from defeat.

Pathetically, the one that his mind kept going back to was the Karate Kid. He imagined the crane technique but wanted to laugh at himself for such a thought. Yet there was something to that. Daniel had needed to let go. He had needed to stop thinking or overthinking the situation and just center himself. From that place of center, he had been able to respond in just the right way.

It was only a movie and seemed a stupid thing to wager his life on, but then again here he was fighting on another world, so how stupid could it be. Tim drew in his breath. He tried to relax and find his center. His pain faded, and he began to feel the sword. Its weight became an extension of himself. Its blade was his arm, an extension of his will.

It was not something to be overthought. He had to give in to the sword knowledge that was programmed into him. Timothy Stein, glorified data entry clerk, would never be able to win in this moment, but maybe, just maybe, Tim the Sojourner, warrior and sword master, could.

Either because he sensed the danger building or because he was ready to end the farce, Serpius moved forward. His swords formed a net of steel in front of him, and Tim had to simply relax. Impossibly, he couldn’t try to react to each slash but had to respond to the totality of the situation.

As a sense of peace settled over him, the path presented itself. It would cost him, but still, that was all he needed. Tim thrust his sword at just the right angle, and with one twisting movement, he disarmed his foe of his front blade and then rammed the razor-sharp tip of his own blade through leather armor, flesh, bone, and sinew. All the mortal being of Serpius gave way as Tim’s sword thrust into his heart.

In that instant, his foe fell, but more importantly, Tim truly acquired the skill of sword mastery. Before it had been knowledge crammed into his head, but now he made it his own and more. Now, he pushed it beyond and obtained the final level. He became in that moment a possessor of the elusive grandmaster swordsmanship skill.

While his moment of Zen fled just as quickly as the blood was draining from his body, Tim knew he was being blessed with this. He knew he hadn’t really earned it, but then neither had he earned a one-way trip to a world of fighting and death. So perhaps this was cosmic balance. However, it didn’t matter, for now he possessed the peak of swordsmanship and an understanding of how to use it that defied his limited experience.