Nine weeks of constant exercise and combat training on the road with my exacting instructor burns away my comfortable stores of fat. My muscles grow strong and lean, like twisted wires of steel, as I run laps around the caravan. Everyone else gets to ride in comfort.

  Me? I run from dawn till dusk.

  My brother occasionally joins us when Nicanor forgoes running for more traditional strength-based workouts, much to the amusement of the travelers. Even without advanced mana control, his [Strength of the Forge Gods] puts him in a tier all of his own. I’m still sore just thinking about the logs he carried on his shoulders a few days back, two massive logs at a time, to build a bridge for us so that Yuvaan could take his wagons across a narrow canyon instead of detouring half-a-day’s journey to the south.

  We’re a little more than halfway home now, according to the maps of Densmore displayed in Yuvaan’s grand tent. Nothing has gone wrong, which has me on edge. I know trouble is lurking. My nerves are as taut as a bowstring, as Yuvaan likes to say. He’s a charming host and compelling storyteller, and I can’t recall more pleasant travels.

  It seems too good to be true.

  I roll my shoulders, loosening the knot of tension growing as I wait for the inevitable disaster. Honestly, I could grow used to a lifetime of tranquility. That scares me, in a way; what if I lose my edge?

  That only makes everything more bittersweet when our peace is shattered at last, though some part of me is relieved to no longer remain suspicious and vigilant. The knot unties itself completely for the first time since we left the marketplace.

  Bad news finally arrives a few days out from a city I actually recognize from my book reading days. Central region, one of Tem’s old training grounds. I always used to dream of coming here, but I’ve never visited. An infestation is taking root up ahead, barring our path.

  Hundreds upon hundreds of monsters roaming free, if the rumors are to be believed. Potentially thousands more, if they come from a wild Rift, as suspected.

  “Report?” I whisper tersely when I’m ushered into the command tent where Yuvaan and Nicanor are already deep into a war conference. [Scouts] are waiting for us. Deep furrows in their brows give away the story; something is definitely wrong.

  “We have to turn back,” a short, stubby man with a bald head and a snarl of ridged, white scars across where his left ear used to be tells us in a tone that brooks no dissension.

  Yuvaan hums and strokes his chin. “That terrifying, eh? We have high-level fighters with us. We can proceed.”

  The bald man shares a glance with the wiry, shifty-eyed woman next to him. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and black leathers with silencing enchantments stitched into them wrap her body. [Tracker] or [Hunter] of some kind, no doubt, though surprisingly, her Class is veiled when I try a casual Viewing.

  She steps up and clears her throat. “Unless you have an army with you, I don’t recommend taking this fight. Proceeding through the swarm is suicide.”

  “I can provide an army,” I find myself saying. Nicanor will back me up regardless, so I’m not worried about volunteering him for the battle. If anything, I want to prevent him from taking on the swarm solo. Why should he have all the fun with his new spear?

  “Please bring me as much raw material as you can. Stone, sand, dirt—it doesn’t matter. I’ll take it from here.”

  My announcement earns me a few strange looks, but when my teammates immediately run off the beaten path and dig for stones, and Yuvaan’s eyes light up with anticipation, the rest of the caravan staff grudgingly follows in their wake.

  The scouting duo continues to regard me with flat looks, something between skepticism and open hostility, but when I flare my Domain and indulge showing off a bit of my power, their eyes both widen. Fear pours off them, much to my chagrin, as they incline their heads in respect.

  “Apologies, [Mage]. What would you have us do?” The scarred man asks warily. His finger bones creak as his hands into fists. A spark of defiance shines in the suffocating darkness of his newfound fear. “We might not be able to fight like you, Sir, but we’ve been tracking this hoard for days and we’d like to claim our fair spoils.”

  Ah. That must be why they were so scared earlier. Stealing the rewards from their hunt right out from underneath them would mean taking food off their tables.

  Breaking into what I hope is a comforting smile, I gesture toward the defenseless members of the caravan around us. “Protect our flanks if anything slips by me. I’ll pay double your finder’s fee for the trouble, and you keep any cores you find.”

  That seems to put them back in good spirits, and I leave them with a sharp nod to go and make my own preparations. It’s been way too long since I had a proper fight, and I’m excited to see what my glass golems can do now.

  Nearby, Nicanor limbers up. His new glass spear glitters with boundless inner fire, trailing streaks of light as he spins it around. He radiates eagerness for a fight—a warrior spirit that’s nothing but a pale shadow compared with the bloodthirstiness pouring out of the weapon in terrifying waves.

  I gulp. Not for the first time over the last few months, I wonder if using [Glass Animation] on a masterwork weapon was a mistake. For anyone else, I’d fear that the glittering spear might not stay under its master’s control. Nicanor will keep a firm grip, however.

  Piles of rock and stone soon build up as [Caravan Leader] Yuvaan’s workers diligently collect what I've requested. A few of them shoot disgruntled looks my way when they think I can’t see them, although I easily track everything in my Domain.

  I smirk inwardly. If our situations were reversed, I would probably be just as annoyed by the demanding young master making me do extra work. What’s the point of digging up mounds of dirt and piling up rocks when monsters are incoming?

  “More stone!” I call out imperiously, laughing at their startled expressions. Already, the heap is nearly chest high, but it’s not enough for what I have in mind. “Don't go lazy on me now, folks.”

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  “Easy for you to say,” a young man bites out, snickering at me. “You ain’t the one doing the work!”

  “So it would seem,” I reply mildly.

  “Looks pretty straightforward to me,” he shouts back good naturedly, which takes the edge off the rather rude gesture he sends my way.

  “Very well. It seems that a demonstration is an order. But I expect double the work from you after this,” I say, leveling a grin at him and infusing my words with the weight of my Domain.

  He shivers and steps back involuntarily.

  I waggle my eyebrows at him and release the pressure from my Domain. In a heartbeat, my mana control envelops the stack of stones. I reach out to the heap, forging connections with each grain of sand and speck of dirt, mapping out a clear image of the stones with my mana so I can picture it in my mind’s eye.

  It almost looks like a cairn piled up over a grave. Idly, I wonder if this makes me a budding young necromancer.

  As my Skill bundle containing [Vitrification] takes hold of the entire stack of raw material all at once, an unexpected grunt rips out of me.

  Dropping to one knee, I fight off a wave of dizziness. Something warm and wet trickles down from my nose. My tongue tastes of old iron when I lick my lips.

  Deep within, an abrupt shift in my soul, like a heavy beam settling into place in the rough framing of a new house, accompanies the inconveniently timed weakness.

  “Don’t hurt yourself,” the young man sniggers, recovering his bravado. “No wonder you want everyone else to pick up the rocks for you! Just the thought of work makes you bleed.”

  Ignoring the taunts, which remind me of Lionel, endearingly enough, I sink inward and examine my core space.

  Amidst the multivariate glory of crystallized mana surrounding me, one Skill structure stands above them all. Towering three times the size of my other Skills, actually, which are fewer in number I belatedly realize.

  I did it! I merged the set!

  A banner unfurls in confirmation, the background a silvery white color that I've dreamed of but never dared hope I might so casually attain. Iridium grade.

  Inscribed in gleaming golden letters, the name of the Skill takes my breath away.

  [The Glassmith Masters All]

  Studying the runic arrays makes one thing immediately obvious: while countless new runes glimmer across the face of the Skill structure, they are additions to the previous functions. Nothing is lost from the Skill merger, not that I can tell.

  Pangs of regret hit me at not being able to share my findings. I wish Rakesh and Ezio were with me so that we could uncover the mysteries of the new runes together. I’ll do my best to catalogue what I discover and show them later.

  The shift in my Skill pushes on me in a way I haven’t felt before. Perhaps this is the runic pressure that I’ve been missing that will let me equalize my core and make an assault on the Second Threshold. One Skill merger down, four more to go.

  For now, it’s tough to hold on. The mana around me is turbulent and powerful, pressing against me, and I don’t feel like I can linger as long as I used to before. One more challenge to overcome.

  As usual, I need to get stronger.

  Gasping, I fall out of my inner world, recovering from the potent mana buffeting me from all sides.I slump over, resting my hands on the ground as I try to steady myself and keep the world around me from spinning so hard.

  A hand grasps my shoulder, helping me stand. “Seriously, are you all right?”

  The genuine concern in the caravan worker’s voice warms my heart. He had no qualms about ribbing me earlier, but seeing my distress now, he's helping me to my feet and offering me a folded square of linen to wipe my nose.

  “Better than ever,” I croak out, my voice hoarse. “Thanks. What’s your name?”

  “Trevour. You sure you’re fine?”

  At Trevour’s cocked eyebrow, I wave a hand toward the nearby rocks, completing the transmutation into glass faster than ever before. With a mere thought, I levitate the entire mass above my head, where it glows like a small golden sun.

  Hovering ten, or maybe fifteen paces in the air, it still gives off scorching heat. The outer shell of glass is so hot that it’s shedding liquid drops. I cover the workers with a thermal shield of [Greater Heat Manipulation] to keep them from burning under the furious rays of light and heat radiating off the molten glass, and catch each dangerous drop with my Domain.

  Trevour’s skeptical expression melts into astonishment. After a moment, I reach over with two fingers and close his jaw, which is gaping open. Not that I blame him.

  He flushes in embarrassment, and I mercilessly return the snickering derision he sent my way earlier.

  “What in the abyss just happened? You gonna burn all the monsters with that?”

  I grin. “Nah, that’s just step one.”

  I crack my knuckles. Time to see what [The Glassmith Masters All] can really do. I’ve never heard of such a pompous and vague Skill title, but if it’s my highest ranked Skill, even above [Arcane Domain] or [Sanctuary of Glass], then the absurdity of the title may not be misplaced.

  Streams of glass flow down from overhead, funneled through narrow channels of cold I set up with double-layered applications of [Greater Heat Manipulation]. They twist together in front of me, forming the shape of a bird of prey several times larger than my usual creation.

  On instinct, I revise the wings, molding them to curve more on the upper side, and my Skill hums in agreement that it was the right choice. As I suspected, the previous Skills have all folded into the new structure, but I can clearly sense that they’re not gone. If anything, each function is stronger than before. [Artisanal Acuity], [Compositional Analysis], [A Perfect Prototype], [A Master’s Touch: Thirty Seconds of Greatness], and my first homemade Skill, [Vitrification], are all waiting to be unleashed.

  My grin grows wider, and I’m all too aware that I’m cackling like a madman, but I can’t help myself. I’m too excited to care. If this is what real power tastes like, I’m already hungry for more.

  Trevour’s mouth is hanging open again, and this time I leave him to his shock. It’s not every day a glowing, fiery falcon forms in front of you.

  “Get me more rocks, young man, and I’ll show you a more impressive demonstration. Just had to warm up first.”

  Trevour nods absently. His eyes flickering back and forth between the falcon preening itself nearby to the molten globe of glass that’s still rising higher into the sky. Now thirty or forty paces overhead so the oppressive heat blasting down on the caravan doesn’t cook anyone alive if I move too far away to cover them with a thermal shield, the globe continues to rotate, picking up speed as I accept new loads of rock from nearby workers and instantly vitrify the stone, adding them to the mix above.

  Stumbling off to get me enough raw material for a massive glass golem army, Trevour shouts for his coworkers to gather up every bit of rock loose gravel in the surrounding area. All the while, he cranes his neck to stare over his shoulder at the unusual display in the sky: a glass falcon orbiting a miniature sun, screeching soundlessly as it flexes its talons.

  I hope he doesn’t walk into a tree.

  Thankfully, he dodges the trunk in front of him at the last second. A near miss. I wince at how close he came to a nasty collision, but he’s already busy with his task of picking up stones, so I shake my head and chuckle before turning my attention back to the puzzle at hand.

  I get Trevour’s shock, though. Most Skills simply enhance what people can already do naturally. They’re straightforward applications of mana, and so commonplace that most people forget how mystical mana truly is to wield.

  What I just did in full sight of the caravan, however? Wondrous in his eyes.

  By the time Trevour and his crew return with so much stone heaped up on a travois they can barely drag it behind them, the first dozen glass falcons are already complete. Each one is unique in coloring and size, fluttering around under the influence of [Glass Animation]. The first falcon takes over directions, its low cunning enough for dealing with the swarms ahead, and I add more flying beasts to its entourage.

  “Beg your pardon, Sir Mage. Didn’t mean any offense. You know, earlier,” Trevour says as his team unloads stones. He gulps and twists his fingers into his collar, looking vaguely like he wants to throw up.

  “None taken! You remind me of my friend, Lionel,” I say with a laugh. “Second worst troublemaker I've ever known.”

  “Who is the first?” he asks, brows furrowed, an irrepressible curiosity overcoming his chagrin.

  I wink roguishly. “Me.”