Hell Difficulty Tutorial Chapter 792 - Adjusting the objective

Trailing after Noll, we approach a door that glides open automatically, granting entry to a vast circular chamber.

A domed ceiling arches overhead, formed like a hemisphere with expansive windows framed by sleek white metal. Through them stretches a starry void packed with celestial bodies and a distant asteroid belt. One half of the room's curved inner wall features several doors branching further into this spaceship or station or whatever it might be. The opposite side mirrors it with tinted windows, all facing the sun we orbit—a star that, to my mind, looms perilously near.

Right at the room's heart stands a lone tree. Not especially lofty, it boasts a broad canopy of lush green foliage that rustles endlessly, as though kissed by an eternal wind.

Beneath its branches sits a man on a bench. He stands a touch taller than me, his blond locks even brighter than Tess's, falling to just past his shoulders. I realize now he's already gazing up from his book. He sports slim round glasses, which he slips off deliberately. The gesture sharpens his violet gaze, accentuating the golden rings gleaming in his irises.

Professor Elian, exactly as I recall. Once, I served as his Assistant Professor at the Academy on that floor linked to Tyven, the Ruler of Envy. Here he appears before me, no mere tutorial copy but flesh and blood. He hasn't aged a single day since the incidents that inspired that floor.

"I must say I'm disappointed in your handler. On your very first day, you show up late, displaying utter disregard for our pact." Countless billions of years may have passed, yet his voice carries that identical inflection I relished back on that floor.

"I only took the quest minutes ago."

"Your handler and I finalized the agreement's terms two days back."

I blink, silently cursing Ruby.

"No excuses." Elian sets his book aside and rises, straightening his suit. "What level are you now?"

"I prefer to keep that private," I reply.

"It's remarkably naive to think I can't gauge your level just by looking." He addresses the lumoran who guided me. "Noll, what's your read on him?"

The lumoran snaps to attention, spine rigid like it's bolted in place. He studies me closely, as if for the first time.

"I can gauge it from his mana displacement, Master Elian," Noll states, eyes probing. "I've monitored his signature since the airlock. Local mana swirls around him indicating dense saturation."

Noll cocks his head, tone analytical. "His pathways show no activity, minimal leaks or interference. Factoring his internal mana pressure against the ship's simulated environment, plus his feats in Beyond and circulating rumors, I place him between Level 370 and 380."

Elian murmurs thoughtfully, violet eyes sharpening. "A decent call, Noll, but too vague to be useful. I asked for a precise estimate, not a range that spans uselessly wide. Remind me, Noll, your level at tutorial's end?"

The lumoran stays composed, responding promptly. "Level 416, Master Elian!"

"Far exceeding norms. Yet, inform you I must: Mister Gwyn sits at level 402 presently." The Magi faces me again. His eyes flare briefly before he sighs. "What a wretched frame. Still, surviving where Disciple Noll misjudged your mana hints at talent. Marked as disciple by Absolute Lissandra Hawthorne... or her shadow tearing through Beyond now. Did she let you degrade so?"

"I handle things my style. Why tread the road of one who perished?"

"This," Elian stresses, "ranks among the boldest boasts I've heard lately—made truer by your sincerity. Though some of her methods are archaic and..." he pauses, "crude, hazardous even, Lissandra Hawthorne outshone all but a handful."

I meet his stare. "Truthfully? I bet she'd thrash you." More retorts tempt me, but they might get me spaced.

"Evidently so. I harbor no delusions about clashing with her head-on. You came for Everwood, correct?" Elian queries.

"Yes," I affirm.

"Splendid. Hitting level 400 fresh is a bonus. We'll tweak your quest goal. You haven't picked your third trait yet. Share the options, choose one under my watch for study. In return: Everwood," he declares, assuming it's settled.

"Not wholly clueless then. Still, irrelevant—you can go. I'm uninterested in..." he starts, cut off.

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"Master Elian, forgive the interruption, but Nathaniel may not know you always swear to guard that info privately, like with others."

"He's not that dense."

"I am that dense," I admit.

Master and disciple pivot toward me. Elian sighs at the futility. "What a time sink." He eyes his disciple. "No need for him in the lab? Surely you grasp that?"

"We could use him briefly, Master, a day or two. I'll cover your tasks to free you for his trait selection."

"Fine. Carry on, Noll—you, with me." Midway through, Elian strides off, presuming my obedience.

Yeah, no bonding with this one. He's likely ancient beyond his tutorial clone, so I hoped for mellowing. Nope, identical jerk.

A flashback hits: Elian aloft, my dark mana bound by his power, three cubes materializing behind him—each able to obliterate the whole Academy floor.

I hurry after him down the corridor, warming to the aesthetics. Gleaming silver, slender-framed glass, dark-tinted views, sun blazing too near, abundant flora. More trees appear, vines draping walls artfully, blooms everywhere. It blends sci-fi futurism, medieval vibes, and verdant life oddly well.

Perhaps I ought to cut him slack, I muse. Might squeeze valuables from him.

Magi Elian and I climb a spiraling staircase rail-lined with leafy green vines and purple blossoms into another round chamber—an observatory dome of pure glass, edged with wooden seats fur-draped. Center floor holds a hearth-like setup: stacked white logs beneath a Fragment of Eternal Flame flickering in blues, greens, purples.

"I vow to hold your trait choices and selection secret to myself. If my mind falls to corruption or invasion, that knowledge dies first, like other vows' secrets. Prioritized over my life. Combat between us, regardless of who starts, erases it too."

I attend every word, catching the system vow's subtle echo. Odd trusting such mechanics, but if Rulers and Absolutes rely on them, it suffices.

"Fair enough. What's my reward?"

Elian regards me with refined, aristocratic irritation at my existence and query. He retrieves his glasses, dons them, dimming his Mana Wavelength Iris. Makes me ponder: how many evolutions has that trait endured? Base three? No chance. Mine's four, possibly more via System whims. Five? Lowball. Six? Eight? Ten? Does it remain Mana Wavelength Iris? Perhaps it advanced, retaining the aesthetic like my Preeminence Eyes.

"What do you want?" he repeats evenly. "Very well, let's clarify facts upfront, sparing dull repeats of knowns."

Elian fixes me. "Via my skills alone, sans external intel, I discern: Mana Physique yours. An advanced Mana Wavelength Iris, unknown to me but abilities inferable. Level 402, Amplificator with Mana base exceeding 1700—foolhardy, in my view."

His gaze drills deeper. "Empyrean skill evident. Constitution laughably low—even sub-50s boast higher. Given your self-inflicted damage and variables, five to ten years max before crisis. I offer Everwood plus counsel from vast expertise to fix it."

"Plan's in motion—no need. Check back in five to ten; you'll be stunned. But I seek Everwood and eye-training sessions. More potential there."

"Good you see your eyes' squandered promise. Deal accepted. Now, list your trait options."

His tone nearly tempts spacing him into the sun, but today I play nice, reciting the four traits presented.

Predatory Mana Parasite -

Mana-Absorbent Gastric Lining -

Empyrean Ichor -

Immutable Halo Frame -