When it came to fighting in video games, everyone had a theory. Teens saw it as a matter of APM; people in their thirties were convinced it was all a matter of strategy. As for my generation, we believed in bugs and cynicism. Lately, I believed in behavior patterns. I even used an e-coupon to join a gaming class on the subject. A complete waste of money, but at least it had shown me that the majority of game designers disliked random behavior.

When six sand elves appeared around me, my immediate reaction was to throw daggers at those in front, then perform a circular slash and dash for an opening. My actions were neither fast nor precise, yet two of the elves fell to the floor, disappearing in a cloud of green voxels.

What the heck?! I did a backwards somersault, grabbing my second weapon. There was one unbreakable principle in games: if something seemed too easy, you were looking at it wrong. I rushed towards the nearest elf and lunged forward. The tip of my rapier pierced the think leather armor of his chest, inflicting a critical wound. The NPC looked at me, head tilting like a monster in a cheap horror movie, then burst into fragments.

“Twinkle, can you see this?” I took a step back, glancing at the remaining three. They just stood there, doing their idle animations. “Twinkle?”

No response. I opened my game menu window and sent a message to myself. The game system marked it as successfully sent, but it didn't arrive back. Whoever had set up the arena had thought of that. Teleportation and quick camera options were also disabled. I could always do a hard exit and quit the game, but that would defeat the purpose.

Let’s see what the catch is. I looked at the elves and performed an identify. Like most old school games, the identify option in Vesperia was free. Free players, AI companions, even NPC bots could use it without restriction. For that reason, the information it provided was completely useless: race, class, species, occasionally level, as well as a short piece of barely written fluff text and an indicator of how many times I’d killed a mob of that type. In dev view, though, things looked very different.

The elves were classified as “Sand Elf Gladiators.” They were level five, with ten health points—which meant they would die from anything larger than a pebble—equipped in beginner’s gear. All their stats were ridiculously low, and the only skill they had was Arcane Battle Knowledge at seven points. I had never heard of the skill before, but it didn’t seem to be doing much.

Swishing my sword in the air, I waited. Five seconds passed before one of the elves decided to react, drawing a short decorative saber. The graphic details were impressive. From the looks of it, more effort had been put into the weapon that the mob itself. Interestingly enough, I could see no stats on the weapon, not even its name.

I guess I know what to look out for. I attacked in an arc from the upper left. The elf successfully parried my blow, revealing himself completely. My second attack finished him off, cutting through his stomach. This time the remaining two didn’t wait, charging at me. On the spur of the moment, I triggered my spin attack special.

“Crap!” I hissed as my blades cut through the elves’ blocks, slicing their necks almost in unison. It was a mistake wasting my special early on. I checked the countdown status. There was no indication that the skill was permanently disabled. That was a relief, though it didn’t make up for my rookie mistake. For once, I was thankful that camera functionality was disabled. Stupid moves like this were capable of ruining online reputations. I had acquaintances who had seen their monthly income be cut in half for less.

The symbols on the walls around me started flashing. Several of them turned red, then melted away. I fastened my grip. It was time for round two.

A new set of sand elves spawned in the center of the arena. Unlike before, their stats were higher and they had ten combat skills. Their level was displayed as twenty, yet the amount of health points remained the same.

I put away my rapiers and threw a series of eight daggers at the group. If last time the elves had failed to react, now they reacted far too well. All four went into a common defense stance, blocking half my daggers with their swords, letting the rest fly by. This was behavior reserved for mid level bosses. A series of code symbols appeared above their heads. If I had bothered to learn some code, I might have been able to determine the significance, yet as it was as I was looking at hieroglyphs.

Every instinct in my being yelled for me to use my ultimate special. With the elves grouped together, it was almost guaranteed I’d kill most of them. My premature use of my previous special made me hesitate. Right now, I wished I had stocked up on area damage items. It was too late now—my access to the market was blocked. Five seconds later, one of the elves rushed forward, a pair of swords in his hands.

So that’s the pattern. I held my weapons at the ready. A five second wait period between engagements? Whoever designed you is an idiot.

The elf lunged forward, aiming for my chest. I ignored the attack, leaping over him, performing a double strike mid air. As with most ground-based mobs, the combat AI didn’t respond well to aerial attacks.

Not waiting for the elf to disappear, I rolled towards the group of three, performing a double slash attack, and finishing with a Rain of Daggers. My first attack was blocked, yet there was nothing they could do against a point blank mass ranged attack. The non-inventory daggers went through the elves like rain through paper. If Vesperia were one of the sixteen-plus games, the entire arena would be covered with persistent virtual blood. Since it wasn’t, I got to watch three clouds of green particles melt away into the air.

That’s two. I stepped back. The ease with which I had dispatched them made me feel anxious. They had to be sandbagging me; reaching this point was too difficult for them not to. The symbols on the walls glowed brighter, more and more of them turning red and burning away. By the time the glowing stopped, half of them were gone.

I attempted an identify on the room, yet the only thing that appeared was a message inviting me to purchase advanced identification functionality for ninety-nine bucks.

Two new elves emerged in the center of the arena. Their appearance was identical to those before, yet the difference in skills and stats was obvious. According to my inspection, each of them were level eighty, and had a list of twenty eight passive and active skills. Throwing a dagger their way to prevent the initiation of combat, I read through the list. As far as I could make out, most of them were warrior and assassin attacks and defenses. There were a few buffs added for good measure, but my opponents were definitely not specialized in magic. My major concerns were the presence of three ranged attack skills: Bladefall, Dual Throw, and Ricochet. When I was developing my character, I had deliberately avoided the last, given how impractical it was normally. But it would make things tricky in a closed space like this.

I threw another dagger at each of the elves’ heads. Both deflected themt with ease. It was obvious that cheap tricks wouldn’t work on them. If Twinkle was here, I’d have him roam the net for known exploits and information. Since he wasn’t, I did a manual search on Arcane Battle Knowledge. Over a million results appeared; adding Vesperia to the search, however, revealed none.

Of course. I gritted my teeth. It had to be an undocumented skill, probably based on the amount of skill slots the character had. Since the first round, the skill had increased to eighty-one. Here goes. I charged forward.

My expectation was for the elves to engage me from a distance, then move to counter attack. I was half right. As one of the elves launched a barrage of daggers in my direction, the other jumped on his shoulders, then leaped in an arching summersault, drawing both swords.

“Crap!” I could feel the rush of adrenaline in my body. Time stretched. I rolled to the side, watching the daggers fly in slow motion. As the first of them bounced off the ground, several at my second attacker. None of them hit their target, deflected by the elf, but they bought me enough time to jump back on my feet.

Skills, skills, skills. I glanced at my options. Given the elves’ level, I couldn’t risk wasting any of my specials unless I was at point blank range.

The elf in front of me drew his weapons. I leaped into the air, only to feel two daggers hit me in the leg. The feedback was unlike anything I’d experienced before; it was as if someone had thrust a needle through my skin and left it there. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Ever since health liability cases had appeared, game gear was sixty percent safeguards and forty percent everything else. I twisted and glanced at my thigh. Sure enough, there were two daggers sticking out.

Dev mode. I should have assumed that physical feedback would also be different—incapable of harming me, but just enough to make me feel the pain. The creators of this trial were into some hardcore stuff. Two sets of sensations overwhelmed me. One called on me to quit, abandon the hundred level quest, leave the game and never look back. The other wrapped me in a blanket of euphoria, pushing me to get more engaged in the battle. The second sensation won.

From the corner of my eye, I saw one of the elves reach out for his belt. It was a standard to-attack animation an NPC went through before engaging—in this case, throwing a new series of daggers. In normal circumstances, I’d cast all my buffs and protections. This time, however, I did the opposite: kicking off the chamber’s wall, I thrust right at the elf. A torrent of daggers hit at me. I felt them like hailstones on my face and arms. The sensation of pain increased, but it was irrelevant. All that mattered was the elf. The AI had figured out my approach as I switched from ranged to melee, though it was far too slow.

“Checkmate.” I let out a whisper as I used my ultimate attack. The thin line passed through the elf’s body, slicing it in two, before crashing into the arena wall. For the faintest instant, I thought I saw the NPC smile. Before my mind could confirm, the mob was gone.

Not yet. I told myself as the feeling of euphoria surged. Still one more.

Landing on the floor, I turned around with a low sweep and a slash. My fear was that the remaining elf would take the opportunity to charge me. To my surprise he hadn’t, standing patiently at the other side of the arena, gripping both sabers. My first thought was that the five second wait had somehow triggered again. A moment later, I saw the smirk on the elf’s face, far too detailed for an ordinary animation, as if taunting me.

Bring it on! I pointed my rapiers at him as I did another identify. My hunch had proved right; the elf’s skills had increased to fifty, mirroring every ability available to my class. Looking at my own specials, three of them were in cooldown and unlikely to be available before the end of the fight. The remaining were largely defense oriented or focused on area damage.

“One on one,” I whispered, starting my damage reduction buff. Across me, the elf did the same.

So that’s your game. More buff icons appeared around me, only to be matched in turn on the other side. Finally, I could see the pattern: we had engaged in a mirror match. The number of enemies had initially thrown me off, but now it was obvious. The reason for the waiting period and the lack of responsiveness in previous rounds was due to skills not present early on. At level ninety-nine, there was nothing I could do that the elf couldn’t. In the end, it was going to be about APM, after all. Even with fifty times more health, a series of well placed specials could still kill my character before I had a chance to strike. The solution was to not let him cast them.

Slowly, I started walking forward. I could feel my pulse triple. At every step, I expected a charge or a special attack launched my way. None followed. Upon halving the distance between us, the elf started walking, too.

Smart. My lips curved in a smile. He was probably aiming for a point blank special attack as well. That much, I expected. The only question was what order the specials would follow in. If it were me, I’d start with my ultimate attack to get a reaction, then follow up with a dash and a series of ranged attacks. Anything else would push me away and make it more difficult to achieve victory.

Come on. I kept on walking. Pull me in. There were dozens of ways he could do it, including using ricochet throws to attack me from behind.

Three seconds remained until my protection buffs ended. Could that be part of his strategy? Starting second, he had a slight advantage over me in that area. Or maybe there was something else? Machine combat theory suggested that an AI always searched for the optimal choice in every situation, while following imposed restrictions. Suddenly it all made sense. The elf was waiting on me because he was following a defense strategy. Which meant my plan of action was to be reckless.

With a second left on my buffs, I charged forward. The first thing that greeted me was a Rain of Daggers combined with two ultimate attacks. The AI probably considered the distance to be too short for me to evade. This time, it was wrong. Leaping through the daggers, I avoided the line of death, and only suffered an indirect hit from the Bladefall. My health bar fell by a third as the elf launched his lesser specials. I joined suit, using the available attack I had left. Effects and particles flashed between us, filling the space like fireworks on New Year’s. None of the attempts hit their target. I spun in the air, making use of the last of my defense buffs to deflect anything coming my way. I saw the elf start his animation for a third ultimate. Before he could finish, the tip of my sword pierced his hand. It wasn’t a serious wound—in any other circumstances it wouldn’t even be noticed—yet for someone with ten life, even a flesh wound was lethal.

“Got you,” I said as I flew through the NPC’s body, dissolving into green particles. Moments later, I hit the floor.

Yes! I remained there, not wanting to stand up. My heart beat like wild. This was the most intense battle I'd had in ages. It was far shorter and less detailed than most top level boss fights, but there had been something different about it—a faint sensation of danger I hadn’t felt anywhere else.

As I turned on my back a message box appeared above me.

Calibration complete!

Prepare for Trial 1

Sarah vs Behemoth

Suddenly, my feeling of euphoria evaporated.