Over the next few days, the usually quiet house became a hub of activity.

  The team moved in, and they slowly settled into a routine.

  They still started their days with breakfast at the Guild Hall, but they exchanged the training yard for a more private setting.

  Each one of them took turns helping Rowan with Skin Toughening. Rotating between practicing amongst themselves, working on their skills, and beating him black and blue. Thankfully, the pain had grown muted the longer they kept at it, and Rowan found himself complaining less and less often.

  Zoe kept him going with her healing, managing to push away his fatigue with a simple touch.

  “So you’re saying that after this, I should be done?” Rowan asked, wincing as he rolled a staff across his shins, scraping at his skin.

  Annie nodded. “If we did everything right, then yes.”

  “And if we didn’t?”

  She smirked. “Then we get to do it all over again.”

  Rowan sighed, hoping to all the gods that wouldn’t be the case.

  A definite change had come over his body these last few days. It started with the skin on his back, spread to his arms and chest, and now it was finally reaching his legs.

  His skin was definitely tougher. And the longer he kept at it, the more apparent it became. All that was left was for the System to acknowledge it.

  “You think about what skill you’re gonna pick?” Annie asked, lounging on a chair while Rowan continued torturing himself. “I know they aren’t as fancy as your spells, but a good skill can be just as useful. If not more so.”

  “Depends on what I’m offered,” he answered. “But I’m probably going to go for something that helps with my focus. Or maybe agility. I’m honestly not sure yet.”

  “Have you thought about a weapon skill?”

  Rowan shook his head. “No, not really. I feel like that’d be a waste.”

  He drew on his mana, threading it through his channels and towards his palm. A small flame bloomed a heartbeat later, dancing around his fingers. “Magic is always going to be my go-to weapon,” he said, a small smile on his face.

  His Soul still wasn’t fully healed. But compared to how it was right after he’d gotten back from the Plateau, the difference was night and day.

  He could cast all of his Whisper-level spells without pain, and Rowan felt like being able to do the same with Murmur’s wasn’t all that far off.

  “Not to discount the damage a well-placed [Slash] can do,” he quickly added. “But I’ll never be on the same level as someone who dedicates most of their time to the sword, or spear, or really any weapon.”

  She chuckled, feeding Kai a piece of chicken. “Fair enough.”

  His familiar—to the surprise of no one—was ecstatic to have more people in the house. It meant more chances for him to charm a meal out of someone. Or if that didn’t work, there were always other options available.

  He pecked at a plate Omi had left unattended, scarfing down the meat with quick bites.

  They spent the next few minutes in comfortable silence before Annie spoke again. “How many do you think you’ll get offered?”

  Rowan grinned, unable to hide his excitement. “Guess we’ll find out.”

  He’d spent a large portion of his youth training under the best tutors and mentors his family had at their disposal. And while it hadn’t amounted to much then—his apparent affliction making getting skills impossible—he hoped all those hours would now finally prove worth it.

  They settled in, and the hours slowly passed. His not-so-pleasant task made easier by the perpetual company that now moved through the yard.

  .

  .

  .

  The changes that went through Rowan’s body were sudden.

  For barely a moment, a soft, golden glow illuminated him. Pushing away the fatigue and pain, leaving behind a sense of contentment.

  But it was gone as quickly as it came.

  Nemir pushed himself up from where he was sitting, a smile spreading across his face. “About time,” he said, extending a hand. “Congratulations.”

  Rowan smiled back, but right as he was about to take it, a flood of notifications appeared in front of him.

  His eyes widened at the amount, the smile on his face growing. “Whoa,” Rowan muttered, starting to read through it.

  Nemir chuckled. “I’ll leave you to it,” he sat back down, taking a whetstone and starting to grind it against the edge of his blade again. “If you need me, feel free to ask.”

  Rowan nodded absentmindedly, appreciating the patience.

  There was a lot of stuff to go through, and he was eager to get started.

  The five free points he left for later. It was the skill slot that really drew his eye.

  The first list offered was the weapon skills. Rowan might not have been a warrior, but he’d been raised as a member of House Athlain. There were few weapons he hadn’t handled. He’d been taught how to wield a sword and spear by Grandmasters of those skills, and Masters for all the rest.

  But Rowan hadn’t lied to Annie.

  He was good enough for the System to acknowledge it. Still, going for a weapon skill didn’t make much sense.

  Rowan wasn’t a warrior; he was a mage, and the single skill slot could be spent on something better.

  He was never going to measure up to Annie with her spear or Nemir with his sword. Or Omi with his daggers and Silvia with her bow.

  But he wasn’t trying to either.

  He started reading.

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  It was gratifying to see his efforts plainly written.

  Each of these skills was paid for by hours of grueling work. His family had made sure to widen his path. Giving him the option of going whatever way he chooses after Awakening.

  Rowan smiled. It took a while, but I got here.

  His eyes moved further down.

  The stat-based skills were something Rowan would definitely consider. Strength not so much. But Dexterity and Vitality had two that caught his eye.

  Momentum was an Adept-level skill, and those weren’t often offered.

  Well, at least not at Bronze II.

  But Rowan was much older than most when they reached it, and his upbringing hadn’t been all that common either. So it wasn’t surprising to see it. In fact, he’d kind of been hoping for more.

  The skill would let him build and lose momentum much faster than was normally possible, which was deceptively powerful in a fight. Being able to speed up your attacks, or slow yourself down after a powerful strike was a deadly skill to have.

  [Second Wind] was the other one he considered.

  It would let him keep fighting when he really needed to—insurance if things went wrong. The skill wasn’t one Rowan though he’d use much, but the appeal was certainly there.

  He continued reading.

  Rowan grinned. And there they are.

  Intelligence and Willpower didn’t offer skills. Those two stats were entirely dependent on his Core. But Focus was different. It was what determined how long you could utilize your skills. After all, there were only so many [Slash]’s a warrior could throw out before he grew tired.

  But it did more than just that.

  The higher it was, the more active spells a mage could keep up. And these skills would help with exactly that.

  [Calm] sounds amazing, Rowan chuckled. It might even help me fall asleep faster.

  Picking something from this group would directly help him with his casting. And that was hard to pass up.

  [Iron Will] sounded like the perfect choice. It was the second Adept-level skill offered, and between it and [Momentum], Rowan was leaning more towards having something that would be broadly useful.

  I’m probably not going to run into a Psionic any time soon. But I’d feel much better if I’m capable of defending against a mental attack.

  The chances of that happening were slim to none. There were no mages with a mental affinity anywhere near Litwick, and if there were, Rowan had bigger problems. If a Blue-Core mage was after him, there wouldn’t be much he could do. Skill or no.

  He kept reading.

  Stealth is nice, but I glow like a bonfire when I cast. So besides helping me land a sneak attack, it doesn't do much.

  Rowan hesitated as he reached the next grouping, unsure what to make of it.

  Social skills weren’t exactly flaunted, but they weren’t frowned upon either.

  Not everyone dedicated their lives to fighting. There wasn’t a reason for an alchemist to be capable of moving quietly. Or a merchant to hold his breath for longer. Choosing something like that would have been a waste. And after what Rowan went through to gain that single slot, he understood why picking a skill was usually a deeply thought out decision.

  But being more likable? That was useful to everyone.

  Rowan was sure [Commanding Voice] would prove useful. Yet picking it as his first skill didn’t sit right with him. He didn’t want to command anyone. Not yet at least.

  Being Adept alone was enough to make it worth considering, but right now, Rowan wasn’t a leader. He was basically an obscenely rich hedge mage, and charm wasn’t what he needed.

  On the other hand, [Basic Crafting] was only at Novice-level, yet it was one of the most versatile skills. One that Rowan was seriously considering.

  A [Slash] could be changed, but it would still retain the baseline concept that created it in the first place. A weapon. An edge. A swing.

  [Basic Crafting] was different. It could evolve into anything. The greatest smiths, enchanters, and alchemists in the world started with it. Dedicating lifetimes to change the skill into something astonishing.

  But as much as Rowan liked the idea of learning a craft, there just wasn’t any time. He would need a workshop, tools, and hundreds of hours to achieve anything. So he wasn’t certain now was the right time.

  I’ll pick it at Bronze IV. After [Momentum].

  Rowan would gladly try to master Runecraft.

  It was endlessly useful, and not to mention fascinating. The art would help him learn rituals, something that amplified magic by a substantial amount.

  However, that was a long-term goal. Not something to focus on with everything that’s been happening. Killian and his team still hadn’t returned—which suited him just fine—but the situation wasn’t resolved.

  He’s definitely going to try something.

  Rowan wasn’t so worried about that. His Soul was healing rapidly. And after that golden glow faded, it was even better than before. His channels still weren’t fully unblocked, but Rowan felt like he could cast a [Firebolt] without hampering his recovery.

  No [Fireball]’s yet, but he was getting there.

  More importantly, he could use the Vault again. Something he’d been looking forward to for a while.

  I dealt with seven Silver-rank’s at once, all of them with Core’s. One greedy adventurer isn’t going to be a problem.

  Rowan wasn’t going to underestimate him, but they had bigger problems.

  The number of goblin sightings had risen sharply over the last week. Hobgoblins weren’t uncommon anymore but were leading packs in ever-increasing numbers. Most of the Silver-ranks in the city were out on quests, with teams of high Iron’s around them.

  There was even another shaman killed.

  Unlike the one he’d fought, it only had a single affinity. But it was still concerning.

  The surge was getting closer, and Rowan wanted to be as strong as possible by the time it got here.

  But he didn’t want that just for himself. He wanted it for the rest of his team too.

  Rowan didn’t think he’d have managed advancing his body anywhere near this quickly on his own. They gave him their time and effort, it was only right for Rowan to give something back.

  But first, he still had a skill to choose.

  Seeing the last four, his expression shifted.

  Rowan shook his head, not letting his thoughts spiral.

  No pitying myself today, he told himself. What’s the point of advancing if I can’t take pride in my achievements?

  The only Expert-level skill I get offered, and I can’t pick it.

  He remembered reading about this skill as a child, and the description written in the tome came to him unbidden.

  As Duke of Eiselyth, your word carries weight. The Authority of your title empowers your voice, compelling those loyal to you to heed your commands.

  It was a skill he would have to pick up sooner or later if he wanted to accomplish his goals. But right now, those loyal to him consisted of only himself.

  And maybe Kai.

  The members of the Crimson Grove were his friends—his teammates, yet this skill was meant for something else entirely.

  It was for commanding armies, governing a region, directing warriors and mages of untold might. A Duke’s command was a weighty thing, one Rowan didn’t feel he was anywhere close to being worthy of.

  “One day,” he vowed, his voice barely a whisper. “One day I will be.”

  His fists clenched, a determined expression on his face.

  Rowan knew that the smart thing to do was take some time to make his choice. Whatever he picked would follow him to the end of his path, and that wasn’t a small decision.

  But he was never one to second guess himself.

  Rowan picked a skill.

  Without hesitation, he confirmed it.