“What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Azolo,” I replied.

  “Well, Azolo,” he said, “you wait right here. Don’t move a single muscle.” He studied me for a long moment, eyes traveling over my posture, my stance, the way I was holding myself without even realizing it. “And when I say that, I mean it. Try to hold your breath for as long as you can until I get back. Lock every muscle you have. Solid.”

  He stepped a little closer. “It won’t be long, but if you can do this, I promise there’ll be something good in it for you.”

  I nodded.

  He didn’t leave right away. He just kept looking at me, waiting.

  That was when I realized, belatedly, that I hadn’t actually locked my muscles yet. I corrected myself immediately, clamping down on everything at once, freezing in place.

  “Good,” he said. “Good. Now, I’ll be back.”

  He turned and stepped into the redwoods, casually humming to himself. The sound of it carried strangely, low and steady, and it felt like the forest itself grew quieter as he moved. Leaves stopped rustling. Insects went still. Within moments, he was gone from sight.

  It took less than a minute for me to understand how hard it actually was to keep absolutely still. It wasn’t just standing. It was resisting every small adjustment my body wanted to make. Every sway. Every reflex.

  After thirty seconds, my chest started to burn. I hadn’t tried to hold my breath for this long before. My lungs ached as the urge to breathe crept in, slow and insistent. I stayed still.

  As a minute passed, dizziness set in. A light pressure built behind my eyes. I was impressed despite myself. I hadn’t expected my body to hold this long, but I knew I was nearing my limit. The world around me felt distant, muffled, eerily quiet.

  Just as the pressure became unbearable, he stepped back out of the trees.

  He was holding something furious.

  The creature writhed in his hand, scratching at him, lashing out with tentacles. It spat and hissed, fighting with everything it had. Its movements were wild and desperate, but it couldn’t break free. It did not enjoy being held.

  He hadn’t said anything yet.

  I wanted to breathe. My chest screamed for air. I didn’t know if I was allowed to.

  I didn’t move.

  My knees felt like they were about to tremble, the strain screaming through them even as I forced them perfectly still. My vision blurred at the edges. I felt like my face was going to burst as the breath stayed locked in my chest.

  “Okay,” he said calmly. “Good job.”

  I sucked in a massive, gasping breath and nearly collapsed where I stood, air burning as it rushed back into my lungs.

  “Good,” he said. “Good, good, good.”

  He held the squirming creature out in front of me. As it lashed at him and failed, it stopped trying to hurt him and turned its attention to me instead, eyes locking on me with something sharp and hungry.

  “Do you know what you just did?” he asked.

  “I held my breath,” I said between breaths.

  “You held your breath,” he agreed. “And you didn’t move. That’s a skill that takes practice.” He nodded once. “You did quite well.” He paused. “I watched you for a bit before I stepped back into view, just to make sure you weren’t cheating. I’m glad you kept your word.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  He tightened his grip on the creature. His hand nearly engulfed its body. The more I looked at him, the more unsettling it became. His size, his weight, the way muscle and mass sat on his frame, none of it lined up with what I thought a body like that should be capable of.

  “As a reward,” he said, “you get to fight this after I injure it enough that it won’t be too much trouble for you.” He glanced at me. “If you hadn’t passed, I’d have let you fight it at full strength.”

  “What is that thing?” I asked.

  “I’ve got no idea,” he said. “It’s from the iron zone, though, so it shouldn’t be too bad.”

  My stomach dropped at that.

  “I’m going to break its spine,” he continued, as if he were discussing the weather. “That should keep it from moving too fast when I let it go.” He paused. “If you can’t kill it, I will. But don’t fail. You need to kill it.”

  “And how am I supposed to do that?” I asked.

  “Look at it,” he said. “Find how it strikes. Find where it’s weak. Don’t get hit.” He shrugged. “I’m fairly sure it’s venomous. It bit me a few times. Tingled a bit. That’s usually a bad sign for anyone without my skin.”

  I stared at the thing. Even disabled, it was twice my size. Its tentacles dragged its limp lower body behind it as it thrashed in his grip, furious and unrelenting.

  “Is it poisonous to the touch?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “Feels a little hot, but that shouldn’t be too much of an issue.”

  He looked down at it. “Alright.”

  There was a sharp, sickening crack.

  Its legs went completely limp. It hissed in pain and rage as pressure ruptured inside it, its eyes flushing red as it spasmed.

  “Good luck,” he said.

  He kicked it toward me.

  I jumped back instinctively, then stopped myself. We were in the redwoods. Running blindly into the trees could be worse than standing my ground.

  “Okay,” I said, my voice unsteady. “This feels like you’re trying to murder me with extra steps.”

  “Oh, no,” he said calmly. “I can get you back. I’ve got enough healing potions to put you back together even if you’re half eaten.”

  That was not reassuring.

  The creature dragged itself toward me, tentacles pulling its broken body forward, leaving marks in the dirt as it closed the distance.

  I circled it, looking for an opening. It was slow to turn, or so I thought. Then it lifted its body, legs trailing uselessly, and spun on its tentacles to keep me in sight, moving faster than I’d expected.

  It was still an iron-rank monster.

  And I was tin.

  “If you keep running, it’ll get tired,” he called out. “So will you. From the sound of your breathing, you’ll be tired first.”

  I wasn’t wearing shoes. I wasn’t wearing armor. I had no weapon. Just the loincloth and my body.

  That did not feel like it was going to be enough.

  “So,” he said, watching me as I kept my distance, “what are you thinking?”

  The creature lunged again, neck snapping forward before its body followed. Without its legs, it overextended and stumbled, tentacles scrambling to keep it upright. It nearly toppled over before catching itself.

  I tracked the movement carefully. That mattered.

  “I’m thinking about how I’m supposed to do any real damage to that thing,” I said, keeping my eyes on it as I moved, “with the strength of a tin core and the body of a four?year?old.”

  “Good,” he said. “That’s the right way to think about it.”

  He folded his arms, entirely unconcerned. “But just so you know, you should be able to hurt it. Even if it’s minor. There’s enough strength in your body to leave at least a scratch.”

  I grimaced.

  “And with a thousand scratches,” he continued, “you can make a wound.”

  That was not reassuring in the slightest. A thousand strikes just to open a wound did not sound like a plan that ended with me alive.

  The creature tried to rise again, its movements awkward and unbalanced. I watched it closely, forcing myself to analyze instead of panic.

  “So,” he said, “what did you notice about its strike?”

  “It has to collect itself after it launches,” I said slowly. “Without its legs, it can’t slow down properly. It lunges and then loses control. If it still had its legs, they’d catch it.”

  “Yes,” he said. “Exactly.”

  He nodded once. “So how do you exploit that?”

  I hesitated. “Let it attack, then get on top of it?”

  “Very good,” he said. “If you can get on top of it, do you think that’s enough?”

  I looked at the tentacles coiling and uncoiling along its sides. “No. They can probably still reach me. So that won’t be enough.”

  “Correct,” he said. “So, what do you do?”

  “I have to figure out how to get around the tentacles,” I said, “using only my body.”

  “And?” he prompted.

  “And whatever environment I can use,” I added.

  He smiled. “Then do it.”

  I glanced back at him. “You’re not a very good instructor.”

  He laughed. “You’re the only person I’ve ever taught the way I learned how to fight.”

  He spread his hands. “No one ever taught me. This is going to be a learning curve for both of us.”

  I risked another glance at him as I kept moving. “Then how did you even become a master if you never had any formal training?”

  He snorted. “You kill enough things and people start noticing. They give you a title.” He shrugged. “It’s not a science. It’s just how it is.”

  His voice hardened. “Now stop talking and kill the thing. We don’t have all day. This is just the first of what you’re going to fight.”