Kifeda had tried to make a break for it as soon as they had arrived back in the living area. He’d gotten less than two steps before he’d felt a grip of iron clamp onto his shoulder. Sergei had grinned widely at him from less than an inch away before marching him down the hallway. As he did, he called for the other chosen to follow him for skill training.

The young F-Tier excitedly jabbered away at Sergei next to him. Kifeda did his best to tune him out and imagine himself somewhere else.

As it always did, his mind wandered into the skies far, far above the palace. Soaring above everything, as free as the birds he envied every day.

All too soon, he was brought crashing back to reality.

“We will do a variety of exercises to train you to learn skills,” Sergei told them. “You may gain stat points during the training if you are lucky. If not, it is irrelevant. Some skills can be trained individually, some with a partner or group.”

“What will we train first, Sir Sergei?” the F-Tier asked eagerly.

“I leave that up to each of you individually,” the scruffy Top Tier answered. “Simply tell me what kind of skill you wish to learn, and if it is possible I will devise an appropriate training regimen. Many things are possible under the shelter of the Great Tree. Only you can know what will best help you in these trials.”

Hope blossomed in Kifeda’s heart at these words. Mercilessly he tried to crush it. Still it taunted him. Could this be his first step to learning how to fly?

Sergei dismissed them temporarily to think about what they wanted. He offered advice to those like the F-Tier who couldn’t make up their minds, but otherwise left them to their own devices.

Kifeda fully intended to wait until he was confronted by the Vagabond Player. Initially at least.

“Is there some skill that will allow me to fly or glide?” he asked. His light brown eyes met the other man’s green, daring him to mock his request.

Sergei, for his part, stroked his chin in concentration. In the space of a few seconds he considered and discarded a dozen options.

“Direct flight is impossible for now,” he said eventually. “Gliding or slow falling should be possible, but not with what we have currently available to us. I will commune with Yggdrasil herself on your behalf, but I cannot guarantee she will agree. For now you must try something else.”

Kifeda tried not to let his disappointment show as he nodded in understanding. Still, the flame of hope did not die.

for now, he said. Not forever. I will soar through the skies as I have always been meant to do eventually,> he thought.

In the end, he moped until Sergei eventually made him choose a skill. He counted it as a small win given the circumstances.

He decided to focus on a skill that would increase his crit chance, and almost immediately ended up changing his mind afterwards. To develop such a skill he would need to intimately study his target, observing and cataloging its vulnerabilities himself. Something about the process increased his probability of successfully scoring a critical hit, Sergei explained.

Then he would have to relentlessly grind out attacks against his target until a certain number of crits had been achieved.

The number apparently between five and fifty, though Sergei assured him that for the first such skill he wouldn’t need more than ten.

With Kifeda’s luck stat, a successful hit only had about a one percent chance to crit.

The grind began.

Sergei forced him to wheel the training dummy from his room to the common area. He felt that seeing everyone training around you helped intensify your mindset.

He also didn’t trust Kifeda to train alone.

Then he forced Kifeda to observe the dummy from all angles. Next he was made to test the structure and durability of the dummy through texture. Finally, by lunchtime Sergei gave him approval to begin attacking the now hated figure.

He fell upon the dummy like it was the reason he was in the Wild Hunt in the first place.

By dinnertime he was exhausted. He had only crit twice in almost five hundred attacks. His resentment had reached an almost unbearable level. If Sergei stopped by to shout encouragement at him one more time, Kifeda had vowed to attack him instead.

Instead, when the einherjar announced that food was ready he almost collapsed. A combination of relief, frustration, and pure physical exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. His stomach was the only thing keeping him upright.

The food soured in his mouth when Sergei sat down next to him.

“You see the true value of hard work now?” he asked. “How much the Great Tree rewards those dedicated to her?”

Kifeda sat there in silence for a moment, considering how to respond. Branching arguments carved their way through his thoughts. Ideas that things didn’t need to be this way, or that there was a limit as to what should be expected of the people of the Nine Realms.

In the end, he settled for his most honest option. An angry outburst.

“What do you mean how much she rewards?!” he shouted in his rage. “She gave me two crits out of five hundred! I studied that piece of scrap for hours, until you said I could attack it. I kept my technique sharp, even for meaningless blows on an inanimate target. Still! Still I have no skill to show for it. In what way is this a reward?”

Sergei only gave him a strange and protracted look. Eventually he responded.

“You’ve been rewarded with adversity, and still you complain?” he said. “How were you ever chosen by an Aesir?”

Outrage and disgust rolled through Kifeda.

“I’ll leave it to you to bash your head against the wall for hundreds of years,” he finally responded. “You move without purpose and with no goal in mind. Truly, the name Vagabond fits you.”

With the last, Kifeda stormed from the room back to his quarters.

Surprisingly, Sergei didn’t stop him.

When Kifeda had reached his room, he collapsed on his bed almost immediately.

He felt so drained. So tired. So sick of this entire competition and trying to fight against it. Nothing truly did any good. No matter how hard he fought, he would still be stuck here.

For a long while, he belabored his position. He argued with himself in circles for what felt like hours.

Then the spark of hope rose back up inside him.

Here, and here only, Kifeda had access to those truly above him.

Here, and here only, he might learn to fly.

He could force himself for this goal. He would set aside any purpose, guidance, or concern to learn to fly.

And so he did.

He trudged back to the commons area. Some were still training. Namely those like the F-Tier, so enamored with the Top Tier deigning to speak with them that they placed their words like gospel. Most were gone.

Kifeda turned back around and headed to the scruffy, aggravating Top Tier’s room.

When he arrived, he hesitated before he knocked. Sergei answered before the swing of Kifeda’s fist had even drawn back for the second knock. Still, the look of astonishment on his face was somehow gratifying.

“If you show me the path to learn how to fly,” Kifeda said. “I will follow you until the end of the line. Regardless of the costs.”

Sergei stood opposite his young disciple. For a long moment he didn’t respond.

After a long period in which he expected Kifeda to run away with every delay, he finally allowed a small smile to creep onto his face.

“Believe it or not, I’ve been taking it easy on you until now,” he said. “If you would choose me to truly mentor you, you would choose the path of self-destruction.”

Kifeda almost bucked at his familiarity and doubt. Anger rose up in him, and he came so close to denying the salvation of the Top Tier’s words that he almost came apart at the seams.

The scruffy, brown-haired and green-eyed gaze of Hodr’s chosen stopped him just before the words came out.

“If you can submit yourself to me fully,” he said. “I promise to teach you so much more about the Player system that flying will seem like the least and most loathsome skill in the universe.”

Kifeda disagreed. He knew that flight would forever be his most prized ability. Still, here was a way to find it. He agreed eagerly.

An aura of absolute power crushed him to the ground immediately.

“Those who would apply themselves to stand beneath me must first gather the strength to do so,” Sergei’s voice boomed from above him, magnified somehow. “I press down upon you now, not with strength, but with force of will. Prove that you have the resolve to be its equal. You have five minutes.”

Sergei felt true shock for the first time in decades when less than thirty seconds later, Kifeda stood before him. A resolute calmness decorated his expression.

“Believe it or not, I know how to apply myself,” Kifeda said. “I just rarely see the worth of it.”

“Let’s see it then,” Sergei said, a grudging admiration rising in him. “By the time you have reached C-Tier, you will know how to fly. How long it takes you to get there depends on you.”

Kifeda didn’t respond. He simply nodded, and headed back to his room.

He was still exhausted, but his heart felt light.

When he got back, he resumed attacking the training dummy. Before midnight, he had earned his new skill.

Name: Kifeda Ogeto

Race: Human

Age: 24

Level: 51

Experience: 24,736 (▲24,734)

Class: Assassin

Profession: Woodworker

Stats: 10

STR

52

END

52

AGI

77

DEX

79

VIT

77

CON

52

INT

52

WIL

52

CHA

77

LUK

97

Skills: [Hide], [Backstab], [Steal], [Sprint], [Arrest], [Eagle Eye]

Equipment: [Twin Fangs of the Viper], [Studded Gambeson]

Achievements: [Dungeon Diver], [Assassin], [View From Above], [???]

He smiled at the name in satisfaction and was asleep before his back hit the bed.