January 19th, 2022
***
"Oh good, you're awake."
Richter opened his eyes to the white design and sterile scent of a clinic. His body - now healed - lay on a large cot built into the back-left corner. Thin privacy curtains were drawn open, allowing a good view of the room. He noticed a few other people occupying beds, each injured with casts and bandages around their bodies. Lucky for him, Clare was also there, swinging her feet in a chair with a magazine.
"I'm getting tired of walls," he winced. There were bumps on the back of his head, much to his confusion.
"Sorry about that, I smacked you against a couple doorframes on the way here."
"Lovely. Why bother moving me at all? The potion should have worked instantly."
"Convenience." Clare tossed her magazine aside as she stood up. "The clinic is on the fortieth floor of Father's Tower. We're heading another ten to the top to meet him once you get around."
"Ahh, I finally get to learn why I'm here."
He rolled out of bed to do a quick check. Clothes? Freshly changed. Even his hair was combed over. He slid a hand to his hip where he realized his katana was missing. He felt around in a panic.
It wasn't on the cot, nor beneath, and it wasn't leaning anywhere in eyesight. That katana was proof of his identity. It carried the weight and responsibilities passed down to him as a teacher. He earned that katana. It was the only possession he had to show for his efforts.
Clare couldn't understand why he was losing his mind over a basic sword, but his presence fluctuated wildly.
Richter's inhibitions lowered in a momentary lapse of composure, and with it, he released his Sense at a level few would ever witness.
[Transcendent Sense]
For just a fraction of a second, Richter observed every angle of the fortieth floor at once - including an angle behind Clare's chair where his blade was tucked away.
She tossed it to him from behind her back.
"The fuck was that?" she shuddered. The sensation was so brief she couldn't pinpoint what caused it. Or in this case, who. But the man ten stories above did.
Richter caught it and checked the blade for any issues — It was in perfect condition. He glared in her direction.
"Don't take my shit."
Clare snorted, "Or what? You'll hit me? Words don't matter if you're weak. Besides, I was just curious. It's such a shame that sword is worthless; I couldn't sell it for a single copper."
"You...tried to sell it?" Richter was aghast.
"I took it to an appraiser. The guy said it was just a normal katana. Honestly, why do you still have that? At least buy a cheap one from the store - it'll give you a couple attributes."
"You know jack shit about swords and their value. Don't do it again."
Clare shrugged, gesturing toward the door. "Whatever you say. Now let's go. You've rested long enough."
He followed her to a shiny, silver elevator that took them the rest of the way.
***
The top floor consisted of a hallway and a single room. Family portraits were spaced evenly on both sides leading to the door. And orange lights were built into the floor like a runway. There were no windows, just the soft, eerie glow. It took him a second to realize he wasn't breathing from the pressure. When he did, the air was musky and metallic. There was no ventilation.
The opaque glass door slid open, welcoming them to a quaint office where a skinny man sat hunched over an organized desk.
An ink quill clenched between his thumb and middle finger. A cigar rested between his lips.
The first impression made was of a man who stood on business. He didn't bother to look at them when they entered, opting to scribble more notes.
"You're dismissed, Clare. Take a seat Richter."
He sat in silence until the man was ready. Richter had experienced this tactic before - a delay. The man wanted to set the pace and show that he was in control. For one of Carson II's strongest to employ manipulation didn't surprise him. But Richter was vastly weaker. Did he deserve the same effort? Brute force or intimidation could have worked.
More concerning was the assumption that it was warranted. For the first time, Richter was beginning to think he'd underestimated the scope of what they wanted him for.
"Finally done." The man sighed in relief and looked up, leaning back in his chair. "I'm Silas Scathher. I've been looking forward to this, Richter. I have high expectations for you; I hope you meet them."
There was an edge to Silas's words, overshadowed by a blonde mustache in the shape of a frown above his smile.
"And what exactly am I here for?"
Silas inhaled, savoring the cigar and blowing more smoke into the air. "In due time, Richter. First, I'd like to tell you a story. One you should find relevant.
He stared with a fervent gaze, a mix of childlike wonder and obsession. "You know, by all counts, you should be dead. But after reading Clare's report...and seeing you for myself, I think I get it. It makes sense."
Richter wanted to speak up, but he couldn't. Something was stopping him; Silas glared at him for trying.
"Don't interrupt."
Violent mana suffused the room, infused through his words and projected like a blast that rattled Richter's brain.
The mask was slipping.
"Level seventy-four marks a turning point. When one passes that threshold, they can truly call themselves strong. But it's no simple task. To do so, you must create an original Skill. If a being can't do that, they'll never surpass level seventy-four. The System will prevent it.
Silas walked around the desk, bending down to see eye-to-eye. He chuckled as if remembering an inside joke.
"And about 400 years ago — an extraordinary assassin was ready to cross that threshold. He was a madman, hated by the many who'd suffered from his line of work. He wanted to create a Skill unlike any other; a Skill that would solidify him as the Universe's Greatest Assassin. Can you guess what that Skill was? Go on. Guess."
Puzzle pieces slowly slid into place in his mind. "Sunder. The Skill was Sunder," Richter grimaced.
"A Skill designed for assassination...that's what you want me for, isn't it?"
"That's right." Silas injected his mana into a dense cube and tossed it on the desk. A projection of an enormous man came to life, showing off all angles along with personal information.
"Meet the head of the Stadz family: Vincent Stadz. Nearly seven feet tall and four hundred pounds of muscle. He's a Guardian. And he's your target."
The 3D render showed every immaculate detail. It captured the messy mop of brown hair atop Vincent's head and his boyish face. The crooked, scarred nose and cold teal eyes painted a vivid image of the man.
"How am I supposed to assassinate this guy?" Richter leaned back, exasperated, "He's like the personification of an immovable object."
"Tell me about it..." Silas muttered. "Look, I've been planning this for a long time. I have ways to weaken and break down his defenses. Your job is to capitalize on that moment when it arrives."
"But even then I—"
"You still don't get it, Richter. That madman succeeded." Silas cut him off and retrieved the cube, stuffing it into the inside pocket of his coat. "Sunder is among the most unique Skills ever created and is certainly one of the hardest to use. It was designed to be undetectable, even by the caster. The level of mana talent and awareness needed to wield Sunder has kept it from ever seeing use - it's a deathtrap. Many have tried over the centuries, and they all blew themselves into bits.
Silas grabbed a hard-cover from a bookshelf, flipping through the pages with a melancholic smile. It was thick, roughly the size of dictionaries that Richter used as a kid.
It was a book of obituaries.
"Then here you come." Silas slammed the book closed. "Using Sunder to moderate success. You are my golden goose - unrefined but valuable. This will work. That's why you're going to train. Now head to the lobby. Clare is waiting for you."
He turned his back, ending the meeting on his terms. Richter was in a daze as he processed everything. His feet carried him out and back to the elevator. Different scenarios were playing in his mind.
Sunder wasn't 'effortless', but it wasn't hard for him either. Hell, he'd been able to chain three at once recently. So one thought kept coming back into focus.
'If he learns how easy Sunder is for me...' Richter thought.
'Would he view me as a threat?'
***