There are times in life where you just can’t win. For example, if someone you were greatly indebted to was screaming at you, forcing you to do crazy feats of physical capability as well as mental dexterity. Should you refuse or retaliate? If you do retaliate, then you’re spitting in the face of the man’s hard work and dedication to you, but if you say nothing, then you are submitting to the abuse.

  Enoch had found a solution though. Well, it felt like one to him and him alone. He screamed. As loud and as angrily as he could. His scream wasn’t profound or meaningful in any sense; just angry. It only fuelled Enoch’s anger when the source of it, Ripley, laughed at his shouts.

  Right now was one such time where Enoch was about to scream into the clear blue sky. Ripley was sitting on a bench in the courtyard while making Enoch keep track of ten different mini drones that would randomly swoop in and zap him. His job was to not just keep track of them all, but to also actively get zapped on the right palm each time. No matter what.

  Ripley denied all accusations that he was controlling them, as Enoch knew something was up when at first there were ten drones, then a surprise attack revealed an eleventh. The number had only grown since then, and it was beginning to culminate in another scream.

  Before it reached that point though, the drones all withdrew simultaneously and settled onto the soft grass. Enoch sat down without hesitation, closing his weary eyes and focusing on his breathing as Ripley had taught him. Ripley approached.

  “I’ve gotta say, Enoch. I’m impressed.” He said as he presented a waterskin to Enoch. It was one of the first practical enchanted devices he’d seen, as it not only had infinite water, but it also came out quite cold.

  Enoch drank his fill before capping it and handing it back, “How so.”

  Ripley stuffed it in a pocket too small and sat next to Enoch, “In nearly everything. If I weren’t actively monitoring your soul, I’d believe you to be at the peak of Jet.”

  Enoch just offered a confused look, to which Ripley nodded, “It may seem random what I’ve done throughout the week, but those exercises were to–”

  “-get a baseline for my capability and willingness to go far. I’m aware.” Enoch said testily, instantly feeling bad about his tone. He went to apologize when Ripley laughed and nodded.

  “Exactly. Well, let me tell you, the only lacking mental faculty you have is gauging your own capability. You say that you feel no different than how you did before coming here, yet from your accounts, I’ve determined you are, at least, six times stronger, faster, and more durable than you’d been before.”

  Enoch was doubtful, “How? I really don’t feel much different, and there’s no way one facet does that to someone.”

  Ripley grinned expectantly, “I have a question only your book can answer. Do you happen to know your magnitudes?”

  Enoch shook his head at the unfamiliar term, but took out the book. It flipped open on its own to his status page, and a new spot was filled in. Curious, Enoch looked closer.

  Enoch just showed Ripley the book, the man’s face lighting up in affirmation. “I knew it!” Ripley said hotly. “That isn’t normal, just so you know. Take a look at my magnitudes.”

  Enoch touched Ripley with the book, and the page filled out. Enoch only looked at the magnitudes.

  Enoch squinted at the figures, “You’re way higher rank than me, why are my values higher than yours?”

  “Because magnitudes don’t work like that. Unfortunately, there isn’t a way to measure these stats directly, but this is a pretty accurate method of determining roughly where someone is. Think of it more like a variable. For example, you have a far higher potency magnitude than me, but our actual potency is vastly in my favor. One thousand times four is still greater than four times ten. “ Ripley said.

  “That makes sense. So I guess my magnitudes are pretty good then, right?” Enoch asked, feeling a smile come on.

  Ripley shook his head, “No, they aren’t just good, they’re nearly perfect. And that isn’t normal. You see, the total value of someone’s magnitudes is around thirty, give or take a few points. There are some deviations here and there, but this is the greatest one I’ve ever seen.”

  Enoch frowned, “Mine nearly adds up to fifty. Is there a downside?”

  Ripley looked uncertain, “I don’t know for sure. The only thing I’ll say is that there been some folks with similar numbers before. Just… well, one day you’ll find out. Its probably best you don’t know yet.”

  “Wait, what? You can’t just tease me like that!” Enoch protested.

  “Would you rather I lie to you and tell you that your condition is unique? Well, it might still be, but I have a theory that, I promise, would do more harm than good to you. For now, just appreciate the fact that you have something of an… advantage, over others of your rank.” Ripley said. Enoch wanted to press further, but he saw it was a moot point with Ripley. He just shook his head.

  “Fine. But how much of an advantage is it?” Enoch said, rereading the lists from each of them. It sounded like a good head start.

  Ripley shrugged, “Depends. Really, all it means is that if you fail to adopt a skill it is only a matter of you not trying hard enough. Don’t think those big numbers make you invincible: I’d take an experienced person with all magnitudes of one over you right now. You have no sense for combat, lack training and don’t even have a weapon.”

  Enoch twitched, “I actually do have some fighting experience, thank you. My past is a little sordid. Not a lot, but a little.”

  Ripley looked unsure, “Oh? I thought your world was one with most violence in the past?”

  Enoch snorted a laugh, “Nah. Open violence is mostly gone, though some tensions were rising when I left. More personal conflicts, hidden conflicts, even good old small time warfare though… still rampant. Firearm dealers aren’t rich just cause they sell to idle military groups.”

  Ripley leaned in, “I want to know more about this: that sounds like a thriving ground for private mercenary groups.” He frowned, “Wait, were you a mercenary?”

  Enoch laughed, “I wasn’t a mercenary. I wasn’t involved in any of those affairs directly, I just like to research stuff like that. No, my history is more… exotic and short lived. I’ve mostly lived a normal life, with two notable exceptions. Chief among them being this little trip to Praeda. Second is when I used to be a combat chronicler.” Ripley looked confused, so Enoch elaborated, “A combat chronicler is… kind of like a spy, but for historical purposes. Basically I would infiltrate one of the groups in any given conflict. Most of the time it was the losing side, as their side of the story is often the first to be twisted by the winners.”

  Ripley looked intrigued, “Interesting. Indeed, history is written by the victor. For how long did you do this?”

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  “Hmmm… Probably seven years. Nothing big-time. I normally just invaded PMCs or self-proclaimed militias. Sometimes even large protesting groups.” Enoch said. He sighed, “I had my fair share of scraps when I was found where I wasn’t supposed to be.”

  “Oh? So you’re already proficient in basic stealth, infiltration, and self defence?” Ripley asked, Enoch just now noticing the fire in the man’s eyes. Enoch realized he’d spilled one too many beans, and paled.

  “No no no, Ripley! I was, eh, bush league! Trust me, I should be treated like a novice…” Enoch gave up halfway through. Ripley wasn’t so easily fooled.

  The man laughed, “That makes this easier! I can fast track you to the more advanced and magical parts of the scout position then. We still need to condition you, but most of the theory and experience is already there.”

  Enoch sighed, “Fine. But, give me a crash course at the very least. I mostly did urban and social stealth. Not a lot of skulking going down where I was.”

  Ripley clapped his hands and the drones all buzzed to life. Enoch snarled, but Ripley held a hand up, “We’re moving on, now. You have near-perfect magnitudes and a decent font of experience with this field. I want to start you with a weapon, now. What kind of melee combat are you familiar with?”

  “Well… Knives and hand-to-hand, but I wouldn’t call my capability anything to write home about. But, I don’t want to use either of them. What other options do I have as a scout?”

  Ripley brought Enoch over to a wall, where he tapped it and the whole thing parted to reveal a cross between modern and medieval versions of an armory. There were all sorts of cold weapons sitting meticulously in their homes along the wall and on cabinets in the middle. Enoch walked in, immediately grabbing a small fighting knife. It was well-made, but didn’t have much use outside of fighting another man. Too small for animals, too dangerous for everyday activity, and too deadly in the right hands. Enoch sighed and put it back on its spot.

  Ripley gestured grandly, “Behold, my armoury. If you haven’t noticed by now, I like to collect things. Weapons and armour are no exception. Look around and find something you like. We’ll see if it gels with you.”

  Enoch squinted at a humongous war-pick, nearly as long as he was tall. “Surely you have a suggestion for stealthy scout weapons?”

  Ripley shook his head, “You’re still bound by thoughts without magic. Sure, weapon archetypes have their place, but overall you still want to use what you’re most comfortable with. Your magic will smooth over any flaws your intended use of the weapon has. For example, I’ve known many hive extermination specialist to use large lances and unruly battle axes. One without magic might think that such a stealthy occupation would require a small, nimble weapon to kill the queen undetected, or even to delay her death until the hit squad could withdraw. But, Melissa Hardrand and her huge lance had an inseparable relationship. One of her powers, Delayed Death, lets her inflict a lethal blow without the target being aware. As she grew in power, so too did the length of time she could extend her target’s demise.”

  Enoch grabbed a scimitar, “Strange that you still have stereotypes, then. Wouldn’t that be a foreign concept if magic makes it so easy to cover those weaknesses?”

  “Well, yes and no. A dagger is both an obvious and good choice for an assassin. But if an assassin happens to be better with a warhammer than a dagger, then they should use a warhammer by virtue of it making them a better combatant.” Ripley noticed Enoch’s hesitance remain, so he just shook his head, “What kind of weapon is ideal to you, simply in terms of what you like?”

  Enoch didn’t answer right away, instead walking over to a display that had caught his eye almost immediately after entering. He grabbed the long blade gently, surprised at its weight. He looked it up and down, thinking of how misunderstood of a weapon it seemed to be. Just moments earlier he’d considered it an instrument of the strong and fierce, but with it in his hands it seemed to be a fine-tuned piece belonging to a dancer. “These fascinate me.” Enoch said, still looking at the sword and experimenting with its weight.

  “A claymore? I’m surprised. You seemed to me like you would prefer agile and low-profile arms. What interests you about them?”

  Enoch kept just kind of twirling the blade around, the feat quite easy in spite of the size. “The dichotomy of it is what is interesting… I mean, I’ve never been a big nerd for what we call cold weapons, but I always thought a big, man-sized sword would be a herculan man’s best friend. I grabbed it cause I thought it looked fun to use, but its actually quite agile.”

  Ripley nodded and took the blade cordially from Enoch, soon displaying a far more coherent and rhythmic sword dance. “A claymore like this is easily misunderstood. Its size does not mean it requires lots of strength to use, but instead that it can accommodate such strength. Claymores and other large caliber blades are nearly universally made to be weapons of momentum, investment and patience.” He stopped his movements, bringing the sword to rest on both his palms between Enoch and himself. He offered it to Enoch while speaking, “They are actually quite versatile, if one ignores their… conspicuity. Do you want to give it a try?”

  Enoch took the sword, “Sure.” He walked with Ripley out of the armory. The drones were still at attention, and Ripley clapped his hands, causing them to all return to their homes. He made another gesture and cloth came spewing from the man’s back, forming a ring within the courtyard. It was surrounded by drapes and curtains, with one opening just big enough for one to enter. As they walked in, Enoch felt a slight bit nervous. He had a feeling this was an arena, and Ripley was the only thing in here other than Enoch.

  Ripley stopped Enoch and kept walking. With his back turned, he began to speak, “I feel fortunate you’ve chosen the claymore. It isn’t my most proficient weapon, but it is still easily one of the best in my repertoire of skills. I don’t often find myself teaching those who take an interest in the claymore’s two-sidedness, so you’ll pardon me if I get too passionate.” He halted and exaggeratedly made an about face. He held out his hand, the first power Enoch saw coming back to life, but differently this time. The cloth ribboned from his skin, but this time far longer. The colorful cloth sword skeleton was soon encased in segmented crystal portions, and Ripley began twirling it about, the shape confusing Enoch as to whether it was solid or silky.

  Enoch gulped, “You know I have no experience, at all, with this thing. Right?”

  Ripley smiled, “I’ll use a phrase I heard you say earlier that I quite liked. Ain’t nothin to but to do it.” He skipped forward, small ribbons underneath his feet carrying him in a dizzying array of colors.

  Enoch grimaced and hated how the sword that he’d sung the praises of just moments ago seemed to turn to a chunk of useless, heavy metal when he needed it. He haphazardly and without grace smacked away Ripley’s sword, and was aware of how much handicap Ripley gave himself. Ripley’s sword acted normally, as one rigid piece, and was momentarily sent careening away, only to loop around faster than before. Enoch saw Ripley barely moving his hands around, merely holding the handle aloft and guiding it to rotate.

  For a long time, Enoch and Ripley “duelled.” Enoch quickly came to agree with the chosen method of teaching, as he felt like he was learning a lot. He still sucked, but he was understanding he sucked. Toward the end, Enoch thought he could call himself a respectable novice.

  Ripley seemed refreshed as the curtained arena seemed to fade into the air. “Well that was fun. You learn quite well.”

  Enoch was quite sweaty and had abandoned his shirt a while back. He didn’t have a fancy set from Vitro’s place, so he had to use Ripley’s guest clothes. Which were just rough cotton tunics. They were rather comfy normally, but the sweat made them extraordinarily stifling. He chuckled at the comment, “Thanks, but I know that had to have been hard for you. It isn’t hard to see that you’re holding back to a level that is, in my assumption, harder than going as hard as you can.”

  Ripley shrugged, “Eh. I’ve had lots of practice withholding strength in order to spar lower-ranked students. You and I is a rather large jump, but I have, if barely, had larger jumps in physical prowess. And you aren’t terrible at sword fighting. Those knife skills you talked about might be giving you a hand there. You should show them to me some other time.”

  Enoch laughed, “Thanks.” They both split up, plans for dinner long-discussed, and performed their post-training rituals. For Ripley, he sat in his office, making a detailed account of all Enoch’s training. It included insights, weaknesses, willing flaws, flexible strengths, underutilized strengths, as well as all sorts of potential things like training regimens, combat and stealth ideologies, and even general power possibilities. Ripley always tried his best to leave powers out of the equation for people who trained with him before becoming fully-faceted, as he didn’t want to make them regret a decision he led them to.

  Enoch on the other hand, took a shower, took a shot of revitalizing elixir, then wrote a far more sentimental and far less informative journal of the day’s training. Ripley had suggested it, and Enoch found merit in the idea of keeping a record of his time on Praeda. After all, his family might enjoy it, and if he got back to Earth but couldn’t come back, as well as losing access to his facets, he could revisit the memory. He enjoyed the retrospection journaling gave to every day. Things ignored in the moment they were discovered were cherished or learned from when thought about in a setting made specifically for that purpose. It made Enoch feel he was drawing more value from each day. Plus there was no tech or internet around to pull his attention away from his self-imposed task.

  After they each were ready, the pair met up in the dining hall. Dinner was brought out shortly.

  Enoch lowered his head for a moment, thinking of how to phrase his question. “Hey… What should I do after becoming a scout? I mean, I know the job and all that, but so far people have only told me its good for meeting people, not how it actually works.”

  Ripley nodded, “I see. Well, scouts are both autonomous and assigned jobs. Scout and merc work are alike in many ways, so much so that some have pushed for the whole scout department be merged with ordinary mercs, only with a notation on their badge.”

  “Sooo, what? There are just open scouting jobs that need done? How do you know where to investigate?”

  “So the association has maps of the region it oversees, and the region is divided into subregions. There is a tracker of sorts in the local SMAC who’s job is to make sure scouts thoroughly monitor all the subregions. For example, sky island such-and-such is nearly due for a routine investigation, so the tracker will post a contract for that area. On the other end of that, a scout is required to do so many jobs a week, depending on their record. They would walk into the office and pick out either one or a set of contracts to inspect for monsters, facets, aspects, criminal activity, as well as developing natural resources.”

  Enoch furrowed his brow, “I thought scouts checked out monsters only?”

  Ripley wobbled his head, “That is the primary job, but all the rest is stuff any good scout also pays attention to. Facets you find on missions are a great way to significantly boost your income.”

  Enoch put his head in his hands, “Lots to learn, I guess.”

  Ripley set a hand on his shoulder, “Aye…”