“There has been one that I have recorded. It is a level 40+ Class, a tier of power so few reach, and on top of that, the few Esultaran Sovereigns that reached that level of power often took different, if not dissimilar, paths. The one known was Ciscanius Frostlance, who in his youth was a in the depths of the coldest northwest of his home continent, and who, after a couple of advancements, became a , and, finally, the . Though he only held the class for mere days before being slain by Artur the Oathbreaker, , he showed a breadth and intensity of power held only by a handful of people of or above his level throughout the history of the world.”

Oreanan Vainen on the first

“See, what you fail to understand is that I am unstoppable. I’m not some enemy you fight in a duel, you old relic, I’m the chosen of the Archons themselves. I’m one of, what, the ten highest level people in all of history, and easily the highest level person alive. You’ve leveled at least a couple times in the last two minutes, and still you can’t pose a serious challenge to my divine might. Lay down your weapon, and join me as one of my lieutenants, like Antonius and Oakchild were, and like Devoleon still is. You’ve exceeded level 30, and you have more than six decades of experience as a master of the blade. You’d be a perfect fit as a member of my inner circle.”

“. That was my level 20 Talent, and a strong one at that. That was seventy years and thirteen levels ago, when I gained that Talent. Over three quarters of my life has passed me by since that day, yet I remember it so keenly, despite the fog of time.” She rushed forward, still in a twenty-year-old body, still at the peak of her skill, despite her weariness and mounting injuries. “I’ve killed a of Diren, a man who was the right hand of the former . I’ve killed half a dozen over level 20, thrice as many of various stripes, the least of whom was level 17, and the greatest of whom was level 28. I’ve killed , two , six -- one of whom was a , and he was quite a bastard, along with that that was his wife-- along with no less than forty-six of various levels, from fifteen to twenty-five. I’ve beaten a who was thrice as smart as me and had five levels on me at the time to death with his own ledger books.”

The took a deep breath, adjusting her stance slightly as she moved in and out of attack range, before continuing. “I once slaughtered a whose level 20 Talent was the ability to heal from any wound as long as the people were cheering him on-- I managed to turn enough of his supporters against him, and cut enough vital organs out, that he finally dropped dead. But in all my years of experience as a leader and as a warrior, I’ve never killed a .”

She sliced clean through the ’s nose. Stillbottums reeled back, clapping one clawed hand to his face as dark, ichorous blood pooled down. The wound would soon close, but it at least gave her a moment of pause. “Why do I say all of this? Because I know I can’t win. Not just because I’m fighting an opponent with seven or eight levels on me, at least, but because you’re backed by a force way above my paygrade.”

Stillbottums V stared at her in shock. “How do you know of my patrons?”

She laughed, then, quick as lightning, dove back into the fray. “Because, like I said, I’ve been in a lot of scrapes. Seventy-plus years ago, when I hadn’t even hit level 15, I was up against a guy who had twelve, maybe fourteen entire levels on me. One of the aforementioned . A guy with around twice as many levels as me, and boy was he tough to take down. But despite it all, I won. How isn’t really relevant, but the comparison is. You’ve got less than ten levels on me, so this should be tough. But you fight more like the difference is 20-- not unusual, lots of pricks get cocky and act like they’re invincible-- but the difference is that, for you, it work. I’m as young as I was then, with twice as many levels as I had, and I’m struggling way more than I should be, trying to beat someone who hasn’t even got ten levels on me, let alone 14. It doesn’t add up. And then I realized: it’s because you’re cheating. Thanks for confirming my conclusion.”

Ronald Stillbottums the Fifth, of Esultare, highest level living person in all of Esun, and tenth highest level person in all of history, roared in rage and pain at her words and her continued attacks, lashing out. Flesh tore from the ’s form, and she went flying into the wall yet again, this time with one less eye.

ERROR

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Level 35 earned!

ERROR

Class Advancement unlocked!

🠊 /////////

ERROR

Advancement typed: , prerequisites not mmmeeeeee-------

ERROR

ERROR

Class Advancement unlocked!

🠊 Level 3------- ERROR

Pain, dark, pressure. A raging attacking unrelentingly, beating her into a pulp.

Level 36 earned!

Talent Advancement unlocked!

🠊 !

---------

ERROR

earned!

ERROR

She felt the massive toe of the ’s boot crunch into her chest, felt her lungs collapse and her ribs shatter. The pain felt distant. She had to rise. She had made a promise. To Cordelia, to Sarissa, to Vance and Gychell. To Bravestone, too. She had sworn an oath, and as such she had a duty to fulfill.

She rose to her feet, despite the state of her body. She had less than a minute of youth left, her years soon to catch up with her. Already she felt that long-familiar ache beginning to settle once again in her bones. Her body was broken, and aging back to its natural state, yet she had never felt better, or stronger, in all her life. Her blade was long shattered, and her had been snuffed out. But she was a student of the blade. Her strikes flowed like crashing waves, after all. Her body and spirit was her own, and she laughed in the face of the heavens.

She was Stina Walsh, damn it all, and she would keep fighting until there wasn’t enough of her left to stand back up. A weapon made of memory and golden fire sprung into being in her hand, and she slashed at the , pushing him back.

“Six levels in less than ten minutes. Quite impressive. Fastest advancement I’ve ever heard of. I guess if I’m fighting a man backed by an Archon or two at minimum, it’s only sensible that I’d gain at least a few levels.”

The seconds ticked by as their duel continued.

Blood pooled at the feet, mixing with the dark ichor of the . She was fifty, physically, as the seconds dragged on, and the dregs of her Talent left her. Then ten years older with the next breath, as her movements slowed and her joints stiffened, her mind fogging between pain and age.

In the next second she was seventy, as her blade came down again, held in fingers covered in gaunt skin, with veins standing out starkly, greenish blue, thin, the blood within her slow-moving, except when it came to her vast wounds.

“I will not fail, damn you, Archon’s Chosen! I will slay you where you stand! And should I fail, another WILL rise, even if it takes one hundred years!”

New Talent created!

The roared once again, and smashed in her skull, sending brains and blood everywhere. As her blade of golden fire fell from her hands and extinguished, her last expression was a smug, determined smile.

Far away, in the medium sized city of Lakeside, a notification went off in an old man’s head.

granted!

granted!

granted!

In a small township not so far distant from the , another man, much younger than the former, heard a not altogether dissimilar notification.

Level 18 granted!

granted!

granted!