Carl ticked the arena off quickly, having found out the prices of instructors there.

Their names turned out to be somehow misleading. A beginner instructor, for example, meant that the teacher was at the intermediate level, and the pupils were beginners. This set the ceiling at 200% nominal attribute value, because the advanced instructors were already experts themselves.

While beginner ones cost 10 silver per hour, intermediate cost 1 gold, and advanced 10 gold – this included training with specialized equipment in modern gladiatorial ludi behind the Colosseum. Meanwhile, apparently it took a regular routine of one hour a day about two or three months to max out an attribute with a given instructor absent external aids, meaning meager 7-8 gold for Carl to go from 5 agility to 10 if he took is slow. But by then, obviously, the tutorial would be long over.

As longer sessions would yield diminished returns, Carl decided to wait until he had the funds to hire an advanced instructor from the get go. His progress would be many times faster, and by that time he could also afford some premium resources for enhanced gains.

There was yet another fundamentally useful feature he previously uncovered among the temple services, and now confirmed in the arena as well – prolific resting areas, where one could leave their avatar to sleep when they logged off for the day. That, however, required registering and paying the appropriate fee, as the available room was both limited and expensive.

Carl already knew that the avatars would get tired over time and their performance would gradually drop if not allowed rest. It was a kind of an unavoidable debuff. The most convenient way to counteract that was to simply log off for several hours or more. This was a mechanic to prevent players from overtaxing themselves to death, as many would be willing to ruin their health in order to get as much grind in as possible. And while the hardware kept monitoring their condition, Cybercore couldn't just arbitrarily cut their access once alarming signals came in, they could only send warnings.

Such resting, unfortunately, was only 50% as efficient as renting a room at an inn or a hotel. It was perfectly fine if one was only playing 8 hours a day and spent 16 hours offline, but anything more than that and debuffs would eventually accrue. Hotel rooms weren't exactly cheap or sufficient in number, either. Fleeting Time and his team had the money, and yet they didn't bother. That told Carl it wasn't looking rosy – likely everything was booked already and finding a single spot could take forever.

The arena, and particularly the temple, were a different story. For one, these were maintained by NPCs, but only visited by players, which meant far less competition. But most importantly, the prices were exorbitant. And rightfully so – while resting in the arena would rouse the body to regenerate faster and boost its physical constitution for up to 8 hours after logging in, increasing stamina recovery and physical attribute gains, resting in the temple would do the same for mental constitution, increasing focus and mana recovery as well as mental attribute gains.

Since the latter was definitely far superior, it cost 1 gold per hour, and because of that outrageous tag had plenty of room to spare. The former cost 20 silver per hour, and here it was a race to snatch a vacancy, though it was doable if one waited in the queue for a little while.

For ordinary and casual players these luxuries were entirely out of reach, as they even struggled to cover blood transfusion and repair costs. Few of them were capable of reliably hunting gray wolves yet, not to mention black. They could consider themselves lucky if their daily net income exceeded 10 silver. At this point, it was only the hardcore gamers with nerves of steel who could earn more than a gold coin per day, and they would need those funds dearly to upgrade their gear or seek instructors for essential skills.

With a bar set this high, it was only the elite players with financial support who could afford to sleep in the Colosseum's hallowed grounds. Carl, however, didn't plan to go up against them. Instead, he only had the Temple of Immortals on his mind. 1 gold per hour might have been much for him now, but he was fully determined to make it there as soon as possible.

Tomorrow!

…

“Hello.” Carl waved genially. “I'm here to meet Magister Albertus … I think.”

“You mean Magistrate Demerius? Here, fill this form in,” the strict receptionist lady administered promptly.

Looking around at the other besieged counters, Carl was unsure of what to do.

“Err … what is that for?”

The specky clerk sighed with vexation.

“Through this form you state your business. We will filter out all those lacking merit. You may come back tomorrow to see if your form was accepted or not. Then, the remaining ones will be assigned an appointment according to our schedules, which is at least three weeks from now. And if you were prudent, you would have realized there's a pile of empty forms on the table, and you could have just thrown yours into the box next to it, saving everyone precious time,” she chastised venomously.

“Oh … but I'm only here to receive my title …”

The lady paused, eyeing the pitiable applicant for a moment. Cheap, torn clothes, ruined paper armor, nearly empty backpack, and bright countenance. How did he even get to this floor?

“Fill your form,” she repeated, handing a pen.

“Okay. Under occupation, should I just put 'immortal'?”

“You don't even have an occupation?” she glowered.

“… 'Immortal' it is. There you go.” Carl returned the form, which didn't even have 10 words on it. The woman knit her brows seeing that. She scrutinized him once more, then stood up.

“Wait here.”

Standing by for a minute, Carl noticed everyone was observing him furtively while trying to appear indifferent – but once the whole room did that, it was impossible to hide.

“Dude …” one player stepped forward with a hushed initiative. “What did you do? You only put down a few words. What trick did you use? I'll buy it from you!”

Carl shrugged indifferently.

“These clerks are vicious. They don't even care if you're the guild leader of a legally approved guild, and only show respect to aristocrats and other officials. Come on, I know you know!” the guy whispered conspiratorially.

“I'm only here to receive a reward, nothing more,” Carl admitted without suppressing his voice.

“A reward? Aren't you a hunter?” Someone else remarked.

“I am.”

“But hunters have no business here. They only deal with the Expedition Association, no?”

“What kind of reward?”

“I'll pay you double what he offered you!”

The crowd jumped Carl like a pack of vultures, as everybody was here to pursue some far-reaching agenda, and almost all of them were representing a large group with capital to back them. Luckily, the female receptionist soon returned.

“Magistrate Demerius will see you now,” she informed in a somewhat affable manner.

“What?!”

“It worked?!”

“Who is this guy?!”

The mob was in an uproar. Few people managed to get an appointment in three weeks time, which meant the tutorial would be almost over by then, and yet it was still seen as a massive success. After all, knowledge was power, and meeting the magistrate held the promise of learning some vital information.

But here was a player who got an instantaneous audience with just a few words?

That was unheard of!

Escorted by envious and resentful looks, Carl disappeared behind a grand door. He then followed the clerk through a long lobby, and arrived at a spacious office with an elegant middle-aged man dwarfed by a huge, multi-stage desk he was sitting at. There were neat piles of documents all over it, and countless more in the cabinets covering the entire wall. Carl could also recognize plenty of magical and non-magical bureau appliances for copying, stamping, certifying, verifying, and what not. It was all incredibly professional and well organized.

“Lord Charles Lionheart, I presume?” the man greeted courteously, standing up.

“That's me.”

“Wait … Lord?”

“Please, after me.” The man, who radiated competence and expertise, went to the wall on his left and opened another set of opulent doors for Carl.

“He's not the magistrate? Oof, that was close …” Carl almost made an embarrassing gaffe. “I should make a habit of inspecting people.” Only now did Carl scan the man and found out who he was.

Chief Deputy Anselm Veritus, Aide to Magistrate of Geneva.

In safe and common spaces, the ID of players and public NPC figures such as officials, merchants, law enforcement or civil servants, was freely available through a system check. This was akin to playing with low realism, and would change completely in dangerous areas, which were designed for full realism. There, the system was supposed to help as little as possible.

“Now this is an office!”

Vast, fit with glass on three sides, overlooking the city to the north, west and east from the top floor they were on. Almost devoid of furnishings, save for the wall that was connecting it to the rest of the building, and the very center, where a stately elder man sat in a massive, swiveling armchair, surrounded by a majestic workspace.

Judge Albertus Demetrius, Magistrate of Geneva.

Ahead of him a thick manual, maybe a grimoire or a chronicle, that he was studying. To his left an intricate magical interface in the shape of a globe, half buried in the dark wood, pulsing with dim light. To his right a whole artistic disarray of books, notes, and unknown little gadgets, surely of arcane origin.

He was very well built, and despite his age, he emanated youthful vigor and illustrious prowess.

“Hmm, ascended, or maybe … ?”

“Step forward,” the magistrate communicated without pausing his lecture.

“Quite direct, that one. But I'm not going to play around with an NPC.”

Carl began casually walking towards.

“Greetings, Magistrate Demetrius. Or should I say, Magister Albertus?”

This finally caused the man to look up. He wasn't happy, however.

“Nobody has called me that ever since I left the academy,” he stated frostily.

When the mighty man spoke, Carl could feel his mana tremble slightly – but he wasn't afraid. On the contrary, he greatly enjoyed the trick Cybercore implemented.

“How about one Maxwell Ironhide?”

“Ha! That good for nothing! He was always on a mission to disappoint!”

Carl smiled.

“Well, he sends his regards. He also requested of me to tell you, that your teachings are not lost on him.”

Albertus jumped up all of a sudden, as if gravity held no authority over him, and landed smoothly in front of Carl.

“Is that so?”

“We all walk different paths, as we start from different points,” Carl calmly declared, standing face to face with the tall powerhouse, peering into the man's eyes for a few seconds.

“And you are?” the magistrate first broke the stalemate.

“He doesn't know? Can not be bothered, or what?"

“Charles Lionheart.”

“Ah. The Beast Slayer. I should have expected as much. You share many similarities with him. And yet … you seem to understand the hierarchy of virtues far better.”

“Hmm, he really appreciates mental constitution, doesn't he?”

“Why would I choose to close my eyes to the truth, and then grope in the dark?”

“Indeed.”

Albertus returned to his desk and picked up a badge that he previously prepared.

“This insignia will attest your accomplishment, raising your influence and fame. Wear it with decorum, and bring us a good name.”

[Beast Slayer Insignia] (badge, bound)

Proof of title. When worn, it will be recognized by competent inhabitants of Celestia.

“No effects? Or maybe they're hidden?”

Pinning the badge on his chest, Carl felt no difference. Undeterred, he was convinced the influence alone would be an invaluable perk. Nodding mutely, he went on his way. This NPC appeared so … contemptuous. Carl had no desire to grill him for information.

“Young immortal!”

Albertus stopped him just before he reached for the door. The man was still standing in place, with hands behind his back.

“You have a very strange air about you, unlike any other of your kind … or anyone I've ever met, for that matter. It unsettles me.”

Carl now felt a lot of eerie trembling within. Surely done intentionally.

“You are a studied man, Magister Albertus.” He smiled amiably. “Have you ever heard of Heroic Spirits?”

With this, he left.

Abandoning the old magistrate, who remained on the spot. White as a sheet.