A [Bard] and a [Rogue] sat in a cramped apartment of the Obsidian Sect. This was no great fireside tale after a great struggle. No quiet aftermath of events where everything would change.

Yet in the [Bard]’s mind, this moment mattered just as much. Because the past would foretell the future, and Artigan’s past was possibly The Realm’s future.

Artigan introduced himself as just Ryan Robinson, and that was a fine mortal name as any other.

“Well, it started in kindergarten. Everyone starts playing with little plastic sticks and shields. We swung swords and pretended to throw magic at each other. Just in case we get chosen to be a Destined and get access to the Trial System. I think it was my second year of grade school when I started showing a bit of talent. Honestly, I’m not even sure how the teacher decided I was better than the others, but they singled me out to my parents…”

–

Fifteen years ago…

“Mrs. Robinson, your son is one of the most talented boys I’ve ever come across. I really do suggest nurturing his talent. You need to start him off early if you want him to get a sponsorship slot. Here’s the card to someone I can personally recommend. He was only a few places off getting a sponsorship slot himself!

A few years later…

“Hey! You think you can take a break in the Trials? KEEP MOVING OR YOU DIE! KEEP YOUR GUARD UP! NOW LONGPOINT STANCE. FASTER. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS IF YOU DON’T MOVE FAST ENOUGH!”

The thirty four year old coach swept the legs of an eight year old. The boy’s head bounced off the mat when he failed to catch himself. Nextra, the coach liked to be called, had become more abusive the more talent his pupils showed, and the boy was apparently one of the most talented he’d ever gotten.

It was never enough, the boy could always move faster, the boy could always make his form more seamless and perfect.

The boy did not complain once. He understood that he was getting special treatment.

They both wanted him to succeed. A little bit of suffering here was worth it.

–

Ryan Robinson, 10 years old.

He was undefeatable. The genius with a sword they called him. Everyone in elementary school believed Ryan would make it into a private school for aspiring adventurers. He was already giving the middle schoolers a good fight. It was only natural that he’d get a scholarship to one of the private schools for adventurer aspirants, become a [Warrior] and rise up.

He was ultimately rejected for the scholarship. The spot went to a half-elf girl that apparently didn’t even need it. Her parents had simply thought it would be a good way to pad her resume early on.

That should have been the first sign, but Ryan was too young to understand. It was easy to fool yourself. There were others with seemingly normal backgrounds that had gotten scholarships.

Surely he just hadn’t tried hard enough.

His parents paid for the private school instead. They knew that for their son to have a chance that he needed the best competitive environment.

–

“If I could go back I’d have told my younger self not to bother.” Ryan mused to Ozyell.

The [Bard] was a good listener, he did not make noises or exclamations. He listened to the words that weren’t said, just as much as those that were.

“Why do you say that?”

“I didn’t realize how much my parents were sacrificing to get me into a private school. What a waste. The competition didn’t even stop there, I didn’t understand that being one of the best in a private school wasn’t good enough. That school wasn’t anywhere near the best. It was more of a rich kid’s school that had good PR. I didn’t understand that until way later.”

–

Even in a more competitive environment, young Ryan was amongst the best. He was keeping up with children that were half removed from adventurers. Some of them were even estranged kids of low leveled realmbound. He reached the top of his year in the fancy private school and things were looking good. His hard work paying dividends.

The boy had lost blood, sweat and tears for it. Unfortunately, one day Ryan lost a little more than that.

CRACK.

The sound of the boy’s arm snapping echoed out in the training hall, making everyone turn around and stare. Nextra had swung a little too hard and a little too quickly. The coach looked at the broken arm of the boy and swore.

“Shit.”

Ryan didn’t scream, he just stared at his broken arm then back at his coach.

“What do we do now?”

–

Even with a broken arm, Ryan practiced with different weapons. This time with one handed swords, shields and throwing knives. When Mrs. Robinson found out it was Nextra, his coach that had done it, his mother screamed at the coach until her voice gave out. Fueled with the guilt of not realizing sooner just how abusive the coach had been.

Then his parents told Ryan not to meet with Nextra ever again. They told the boy this while he trained in the backyard with a cast on his broken arm.

“They weren’t bad parents. It wasn’t their fault they didn’t realize what their son had become. I was obsessed with becoming an adventurer back then, and what good parents could deny their child’s dreams? They did try after that to try to get me to have a normal childhood after that.”

But a younger Ryan was still a Ryan. He snuck away and went back to Nextra. His coach looked at the broken arm in disgust and went back to drinking his beer.

“Your parents aren’t paying me. I’m not training you for free.”

That was the first time a young Ryan came face to face with the reality of money. The idea was ridiculous to him. The younger Ryan thought of Nextra as a true mentor–like something from adventurers’ tales. A grizzled veteran from the settler generation, giving newbies harsh lessons. But beneath the tough exterior, they genuinely cared.

This was supposed to be their dream. Money? Who the fuck cared about money?

The grizzled old ‘mentor’ thought otherwise.

“You want the truth? You’re not good enough. I thought you might have a chance but your parents can’t even afford a healing potion to fix your broken arm. That’s just the way it works Ryan. The adventurer’s kids? The really ‘talented’ ones? They take all the abuse in the world. Then they bathe in healing potions and train under their parents. Travel around the world fighting and learning under different schools. You’re the top of your age bracket in your school? To get a sponsorship as an under eighteen you’re going to need to come first in the State and even that might not be enough. Three portals in America. Three slots a portal a day. There are more [Warrior] applicants than fish in the sea, and most of those won’t be reserved for kids like you. You won’t win the tournament and you won’t get sponsored while under eighteen. You won’t have a chance after that, you’ll see.”

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But Ryan was never good at listening to people that told him he couldn’t do things.

–

A few years later.

It was something that was known but not experienced. There were academies and adventurer families on Earth. These institutions weren’t just for the rich but the connected. Most of the time these kids did not train or compete in local tournaments. They trained near the system portals on Earth, where all the best and brightest like them competed.

It was even rumored that they could cultivate to realm 0. Ryan didn’t believe it could be that much of a difference. He had competed against elves before, even against orcs. It wasn’t impossible.

Yet those really talented kids thought little of the local competitions held elsewhere. They wouldn’t even deign to show up, not even for thousands of dollars in prize money.

But as they turned sixteen they would show up. Spreading to different States where they held some form of residency, crushing the local competition to get good seeding for the real under eighteen open tournament.

Ryan logically understood all of this but refused to believe they could be that much better. He lived in California, one of the most competitive States in America. While Ryan wasn’t the best, he wasn’t that far off. There were always examples of some rising prodigy that came out of nowhere and got a sponsorship. He was certain that could be him.

He had worked harder than ever to spite his coach, slowed only by injury and fatigue.

Then Ryan learned to manage that too. Training was scheduled to optimize recovery. During peak fatigue he’d lie in bed and study forms and his past tapes.

He studied under a different master. This was the age of the internet, you could learn most anything online.

Zahiru, the Settler Swordfront, had been his online mentor of choice. The Japanese ex-[Swordsman] had made it his mission to master every single mortal swordstyle across Earth and The Realm. Though he now ran a prestigious school, his original videos were always free–recorded back when he still bore the soul injury. A mark left after being killed by the Skillful Tyrant himself.

“This is the grip for the original [Poisebreaker Strike]. I have found expanding the distance between your hands by 2 centimeters to work better as a mortal. Of course that also depends on your size, stature and length of sword, but the premise is the same. Swing with perfect form, keeping twenty five percent of your weight on your back foot. Only driving forward when you’re sure you’ve connected. Now practice this a hundred times with variations for when you haven’t connected. Then practice it again everyday until your form is picture perfect. We’ll move on after that.”

Ryan had to get a ruler to figure out the distance for two centimeters. Then realized he had to figure out his own grip distance. His progress actually accelerated under Zahiru’s teachings, the videos offering clarity that Nextra never offered. The wizened swordsman was everything Nextra wasn’t.

A fallen master who had descended from previous heights with grace.

The competitive landscape changed when Ryan hit sixteen. He entered the open qualifiers for the under eighteens for the first time

An elf nobody had ever heard of showed up. It wasn’t the first time Ryan had gone up against other species. Unlike the MMA tournaments, two handed weapons didn’t differentiate between species. It wouldn’t matter too much. As long as he got to the national tournament and had a high enough seeding there’d be a good chance of getting sponsored.

The elf was Herstin Forerunner, from the Forerunner family. An adventuring couple from the golden generation that had one too many children.

Herstin was fifteen, one year younger than he was. Probably joining the open eighteen tourney for practice like Ryan was. At least, that’s what he had thought. Ryan was excited to put himself up against someone like this, it would be the perfect test.

He threw himself at the boy with long ears.

Then Ryan lost. Just like that. A best of five bout and Ryan lost three to nothing. When he later checked the tapes he understood just how much of a gap there was between him and the elven boy. He tried to delude himself. Herstin was just a prodigy, that was all. Sometimes they popped up and ruined things for everyone.

Besides there were always slots reserved for those that weren’t part of adventuring families. Sponsors always looked out for the kid with no adventuring background.

Ryan wasn’t discouraged from one loss.

Then he went up against an orc. This one was more famous so the loss was okay. Then he lost to a human that came out of nowhere. A dude with the last name Kingstrike. An adventurer’s family’s last name. It wasn’t until the end of the first state qualifiers that he truly realized how packed the mountain was.

If only he’d stopped there.

–

Ryan refused to back down. He still had two more years to fill that gap. Two of those losses were people two years older than he was.

He pushed his body more than he should have. It was frustrating that it couldn’t keep up with a more intense schedule. He tried everything. Massage guns, ice baths, saunas, perfectly controlling his diet. Desperately hoping that these things, any of them would help him with muscle recovery.

Unfortunately, there was no Trial System for people like Ryan. Earth did not reward hard work and going up against impossible odds. Sometimes you could do your best, put in all your effort and fail.

When Ryan tore a muscle for the third time in five months he finally started to lose hope. He retreated into his room, studying tapes from previous tournaments. There was nothing he could do. There weren’t enough recordings of the most competitive people. They kept their recent spars private, trying to maintain as much of an edge as possible.

Soon less time was spent on Zahiru’s videos and more time was spent on Realmnet. He operated under the account Zahil, and things started to become a little bitter.

– Didn’t you have [Cleave] back up? If you just used it at 2:04 in the video then you wouldn’t have had to risk the thorns at all. @Zahil (Unverified)

– These are some horrible skill choices. You should have taken [Quickened] to round out your team. @Zahil (Unverified)

– Honestly, I’m not interested in watching a team go full traditional. You’re not going to go far by taking the safe decisions. @Zahil (Unverified)

– Honestly, you’re making weird skill choices. There’s no way you go far with that. I’m unfollowing and following another team. @Zahil (Unverified)

–

Ryan laughed to Ozyell.

“Not going to lie, I was a little shit back then. I believed I could do better than most of the adventurers I watched and was getting bitter that I would never have a chance. The teams I harassed online didn’t deserve it.”

It had been a sore point, something that he didn’t like talking about. Yet all of it, every single bit had helped put him in the position to do this today. A sense of calm settled over Ryan as he started reminiscing about the more shameful parts of his past.

For some reason, that seemingly eternal bitterness had faded. Perhaps it had been the passage of time, perhaps it was the fact that Ryan was constantly going up against much more serious problems. Maybe it was something else entirely.

Like the fact that he was actually rich now.

Ozyell hummed. “It seems to me like your younger self had it right. You could do better in the same position.”

Ryan smiled and shook his head. “No, not yet. I won’t know for certain until I meet with the Manager.”

“And why is that?”

Ryan looked at his right arm.

“I need to know just how much it’s manipulated to put me here. I want to say I’ve broken free but it’s hard to tell. Sometimes it still feels like I’m running down a path that the Manager’s designed.”

Despite Barry’s insistence that it was madness, Ryan couldn’t help but wonder about the Manager’s plans. If he was being honest, a lot of what he did was to spite the Manager. To rebel against the idea of him being the final key to the impossible Trial System. Yet every time he accomplished something he couldn’t help but feel the Manager’s shadow loom over his every action.

The [Bard] sat in silence for a moment. For the first time Ozyell gave advice instead of just listening and prodding.

“I recommend that you ask Miss Gamielle about how achievements work. I think she would have a perspective that would change the way you look at things. You are not running the maze that you think you are, or at least I don’t believe so.”

“What does that mean?”

The [Bard] shook his head. “She understands the Trial System better than I. It would be best to ask her.”

Ryan went back to his story after that. There wasn’t much more to tell, just the story of a boy that was slowly coming to terms with the fact that his dreams were impossible. That sixteen years of youth had been completely wasted. Everything became worse when Ryan found out that his parents had taken a mortgage on their house to fund his tuition.

Then the real world came crashing down.

“I freaked out. I basically quit everything and never touched the sword again. I swapped to a public school in my last year and demanded my parents let me pay for their debts. Then I started working at a Manaburger and kept sending my parents money.”

Ryan laughed bitterly. This one still haunted him to this day.

“They got me back in the end, they downsized their home and got rid of all the debt so I had no reason to keep sending them money. Well… it didn’t completely work. I can’t go into that house and feel comfortable in it ever again.”

He had promised himself that he’d become rich and buy back his childhood home. That he would pay for his mistakes. Now that he had the money it would only be a matter of time until his debt was paid and his old house would be bought again.

His parents deserved it. They deserved it and so much more and he was going to get it all for them.

After that, his story was as ordinary as any other. Ryan, with just the one goal of becoming rich, started his plan to… get a regular job and become successful in the normal way.

Of course that was until one day, a very big ex-[Berserker] went up to the counter.

–

At the end of it all, Ozyell retreated to a different apartment room. With everything that was said he began orchestrating the full score of Ryan Robinson.

The theme had evolved–gained depth like he wanted. It was no longer just the melody of raucousness and exuberance. He understood it like he understood the story in front of him. The [Bard] attuned to the harmony tapped away at his keyboard, writing the rest of the tale in song. He had been right, the past would foretell the future.

Artigan was merely a bridge–a transitional phase for the man named Ryan Robinson. The symphony would not end there.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep