Paragon of Skills

"Do you know how Skills are divided?" She asks.

"Iron, Bronze, Silver, Gold, Platinum, Diamond, True Diamond, Mithril, Orichalcum, Aetherium, Rainbow."

I recite the list.

"That's…" she smiles and shakes her head. "You come from a humble background, don't you?"

I nod, slowly. Not because I trust her, but because I know the kind of look she's giving me right now. The same look the richer boys in the mines used to give when they knew you'd never sit at their table no matter how hard you worked.

"Yes," I say simply.

She hums, as if that confirms something.

"That's the market tier system," she explains. "It's what merchants and Guilds use to measure rarity. But there's another scale—older. More accurate. The Archivists call it the Vein Ladder. It's based on how deeply a Skill entwines with the user's mana lattice and how it reshapes the body and mind."

"Never heard of that," I say. Honestly, it sounds like bullshit. But I keep my mouth shut, because this woman used to be a Platinum Knight at the very least and she clearly hasn't lost her edge.

I suspect she's even stronger than that, honestly.

"You wouldn't have," she continues, tapping a small crystal cube from her belt pouch and watching it flicker with heat. "Most Knights don't. Most Tutors don't either. You've got something rare in you, boy. I'm guessing that Skill of yours—whatever it is—lets you peek deeper than the rest. You saw through my shards like you had a prism in your head."

I say nothing. The less I speak, the more she talks. That's how you mine information.

"I've seen only one Skill like that before," she mutters, half to herself. "It belonged to a man who ended a war in three days. He never fought on the front line. He just taught soldiers how to swing properly, where to aim, and when to dodge. His battalion outperformed entire legions."

"Sounds like a Tutor," I say, cautious.

"No. He was much greater than that," she says, eyes sharp. "You could say, he was extraordinary."

That word settles heavy in the air between us. Not talented. Not strong. Extraordinary.

She can't have guessed it, right? Rainbow Skills are unknown. They're so rare that—

"There are eleven Ranks. And we classify people by the same system based on their strength. You know how each rank is about the destructive power of someone, right?"

I nod cautiously.

"But truly, there are four major tiers of people. Iron through Silver, that's the highest most people in this life will ever go even if they managed to land a Gold or Platinus Skill Crystal. That's because a Gold or Platinum Skill consumes too much energy to be used without any knowledge. So, that's the common folks. Workers who get a few Skill Crystals and level them in the mid fifties as far as levels go.

"The second tier," she continues, "goes from Gold to Diamond. That's the kind of talent you have to demonstrate to enter the Knight's Academy of Ytrial, the greatest Knight Academy there is. You must show yourself capable enough to use at least a Gold-ranked Skill effectively, or to have brought multiple Silvers to full mastery. Knights in this tier form the backbone of noble houses' forces. They are the duelists, the escorts, the elite patrols. They hold power—but not enough to shape the world."

She pauses, watching me closely. I meet her gaze, still silent.

"The third tier," she says, her voice dropping like a blade, "is what I call the Movers. Diamond, True Diamond, sometimes Mithril. That's where you find the named champions. They don't answer to kings—they make kings listen. They're not just strong. They are capable in a way that makes normal men obsolete."

"And the fourth tier?" I ask, already knowing she saved the most terrifying for last.

She tilts her head. "The Wielders of Truth. The ones who've touched Aetherium or Rainbow. Or worse—those who've understood them. That man I told you about? He didn't wield a Rainbow Skill. He comprehended it. It became a part of him. It rewrote him. People like him don't need armies. They change the outcome of wars by pointing."

I feel my palms sweating.

Not because I'm afraid—no. Because for the first time since I picked up that Grimoire, I realize how deep the ocean really is. I've been swimming near the surface, thinking the water's cold. But down there? It's colder than steel and older than the sun.

"I don't know where your Skill sits," she continues. "But the moment I saw you read those shards like street signs, I knew I was staring at the edge of something dangerous. And very rare."

I swallow the lump forming in my throat.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I lie, trying not to meet her gaze now.

She laughs—not loud, not mocking. Just amused.

"Keep lying like that, and one day someone smarter than me will cut you open to see what glows inside. So be careful, boy. Careful what you show, and careful what you teach. Because if I saw it? Others will too. And not all of them will offer you tea and a good deal on Skill Shards."

I nod again, but slower this time.

"Now, as for our deal," she says and a globe appears in her hand from seemingly nowhere.

Wait, at her hand.

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I notice a shimmering ring.

Could it be one of the famous Interspatial Rings?

Those are rings that contain a separate space that can be used to store items. Usually, only Knights and extremely rich people can afford them. Not even Valerius was carrying one with him and had to have his servants haul his things around for him.

"I have been trying to imbue one of my Skills into this Orb of Plenty. It's a Mithril Ranked Artifact. However, there seems to be an incompatibility. If you can tell what's wrong with this, you can have all the shards."

I look at the middle-aged woman, then at the orb, then again at her.

"That seems like a bad deal to me," I frown.

I actually expect her to lose her patience but, instead, she just laughs.

"Sorry, old habits die hard. I like a good barter, actually. I just don't want to waste my time with weak shards. So, how about this, on top of the shards, I happen to have the other two Skill Crystals you're looking for. Fire Armor and Fire Slash. Since those are Silver Crystals, I'll add a third, a little gift. Most don't know it, but Hell's Sword Set can benefit from a very specific, seemingly useless Skill Crystal."

"Which is?" I ask, curious.

She takes out of thin air a small red Skill Crystal, a Silver one.

"Fire Veins," she says, dangling it in front of me. "Its normal effect when used alone is to… warm up your mana veins. Normally, that favors the circulation of mana a little, but its effects are so negligible that no one cares about it. However, if you absorb Fire Veins after completing the set, it will fuse with the set and generate a Secret Gold Skill, Veins of Fire."

"Isn't that the same name?" I frown.

"Veins of Fire is one of those very rare, secret combinations, kid, that most nobles dream of. It increases every aspect of your power, from your Fire-attuned mana to your body's power.

Oh wow, that actually sounds incredibly strong.

"And all I have to do is help you out," I say.

"All he has to do, he says," she laughs. "Yes. Watch me try to fuse the Skill with the Orb of Plenty and tell me what you see."

I look intently, pulling onto The Grimoire Extraordinaire as the woman opens a palm up.

A flicker of light blossoms in her hand.

The Orb of Plenty hovers an inch above her palm, spinning lazily like a dying star. Its surface shifts—glass-like and pearlescent.

The woman raises her other hand and begins to chant under her breath.

"Elettra's Judgment," she whispers.

The Skill answers instantly.

A high-pitched whine cuts through the tent—so sharp it makes my teeth hurt. The air thickens, and all color drains from the world except for a single point of light forming above her head. It glows violet-white, the kind of light that doesn't illuminate but sears. It pulses once—and even though it's not aimed at me, I stagger back.

If that lightning touches me, I will die. Not because I'm weak—because I'm nothing compared to it.

[Elettra's Judgment – Middle Mithril Rank Offensive Spell]

Grimoire Extraordinaire: Elettra's Judgment Lv. 78 contains 6 distinct flaws.

It's not about the Skill's flaws right now.

She's holding it.

Her palm stays level under the orb. Her eyes are narrowed, focused, but calm. As if she's weighing nothing heavier than a jug of water. Her veins glow faint blue from mana surging through them, yet her breath doesn't quicken.

She's not just a former Platinum Knight. She's way past that.

But there's friction. The Skill's energy arcs against the orb, but it won't bind. Sparks ripple over the orb's surface before the light bleeds out the wrong side and fizzles into smoke.

I activate The Grimoire again, this time focusing hard on the orb.

[Orb of Plenty – Mithril Grade Artifact]

[Function: Passive mana storage / amplification. Capable of receiving direct Skill fusion.]

[WARNING: Skill fusion incompatible due to incorrect vein-path mapping.]

My eyes widen.

It's not that the Orb can't absorb the Skill. It's absorbing it wrong. It's trying to treat the lightning like a current—but the Orb has a different lattice structure.

The Grimoire zooms in—projecting a map of the Orb's internal veins. They're not linear, like a heart pumping outward. They're specular—mirror-structured. A twin-vein system, almost like lungs breathing in and out at once.

She's channeling the Skill straight through the center, like into a sword or gem. But the Orb's pathways reflect and fold on each other. It needs a mirrored path.

"Stop," I say, stepping closer, ignoring the taste of copper in my mouth from the pressure. "You're flooding the core wrong. The vein structure inside the orb isn't linear—it's mirrored. You have to cast in reflection."

She doesn't glance at me, but I see one eyebrow twitch.

"Reflection?"

"Start with the Lightning Cloud veins," I say, trusting the Grimoire's diagram, "but cast them in reverse through the right palm. Then match them left-to-right instead of front-to-back. Think of it like... braiding a rope in reverse. If you push it through the main path, it bleeds out."

Her hands don't move immediately. But then, slowly, she shifts her left palm under the orb. Her right fingers splay, and I see the first strand of mana weave outward—not spiraling this time, but curling inward along the mirrored paths.

The light flickers again.

The tent glows blue-white.

And then—

Snap.

The lightning doesn't burst outward.

It enters.

The Orb of Plenty swallows it whole, and the entire tent rocks with pressure before settling into absolute stillness. The orb dims—then brightens again—then turns clear, crystalline, almost invisible.

Then it begins to hum.

Low. Resonant. Like the heart of a storm waiting to be called again.

The woman exhales—only now does she let the tension go.

She closes her hand around the orb, which no longer resists.

"Boy," she says, voice dry, but there's an edge of real awe in it. "You're dangerous."

I don't answer.

She waves a hand, and a tiny chest floats from under her table and lands at my feet with a dull thud.

"All the shards. Fire Armor. Fire Slash. Fire Veins," she says. "And a warning."

She stands now, taller than she seemed before. Her voice becomes cold.

"If anyone else ever saw what you just did—if you'd told anyone but me how to do that—they'd have carved it out of your head. Not bribed you. Not threatened you. Cut it out."

She turns back to her bench.

"And I'm telling you this because I want you to live long enough to learn everything."

I pick up the chest.

"Wait, I didn't catch your name," I say.

"You haven't earned that yet," the woman smiles mysteriously. "But you might be on the right track."

And I realize: this wasn't just about shards or spells or Skill combinations, was it?

This felt like a test.