There was no prying my eyes open. I could feel the cold of the snow creep up my neck as it brushed against my scalp. The wind blew hastily from the side, rubbing against the skin on my face as if looking to cut it open.

  There was something inexplicably comfortable about the state the assessment had left me in. I could spend the next decade laid out on the snow like a sleeping drunk that I doubted I would complain--

  You better wake up, bub.

  --That was, until a childlike voice, its depth like that of a puddle, piped up from above to tug on my consciousness.

  I blinked. "Hello?"

  The same crimson night-time I'd seen in that last trial--the one trial I remembered going through--met my eyes the second I did so. The moon hung smack dab in the middle of the sky, shining a fluttering red color you could almost mistake for that of a dying star. The cold followed suit in that it also resembled the freezing chill I remembered feeling there.

  Everything was pretty much the way I remembered. Pretty much the same, really.

  Took you for dead. Good thing you're awake, though.

  Only that I was now hearing voices.

  And that whole 'hospital delirium' theory was out the window.

  I turned my head to the left, hoping that'd somehow reveal the source of the mysterious sound--Wrong way, bub--but found nothing. The florid darkness had swallowed the sky in full. I could barely see more than a hundred feet out from me. Even if I could, I suspected that this pattern of snow, grass, and snowy grass would be nothing less than recurring.

  The voice took to a sadistic laughing the moment I turned my head the other way. Haha. You're silly.

  God damn it.

  I don't even know where the fuck I am.

  By now, my senses were starting to come back to me. The question of what that assessment had been all about was still lingering over my head like a pop-up waiting to be closed, but I'd accepted my current plight.

  I'd died.

  And from how tangible my body seemed to have gotten, I was guessing I'd come back to life as well. Just in a completely different place from before.

  Maybe it was because of how palpable reality seemed to be getting that I could finally feel more than the wind strike me at the side. The smell of rotting meat wafted through the air and carried on with the blowing snow. Some howling, shrill and winded like that of an injured wolf, rang out somewhere in the distance. And I could faintly make out a munching sound from all the way down my feet.

  …Munching?

  My head jumped in surprise.

  Two bulging eyes bore into mine the second I straightened myself up. They jutted out like a pair of round domes, erupting off the body of a small creature as though it was trying to push them out, and blinked as the thing struggled to wipe the disbelief off its ugly head.

  Or 'off' its body, I should say.

  The small creature was shaped like a skull-sized egg with four legs for limbs, each the size of an adult's hand. Its feet were as big as a grown man's, and it sported a thick mop of brown hair that drooped heavily over its olive skin.

  Now that's a face only a mother could love.

  I yelped.

  The creature's eyes widened in surprise as it stumbled its way down the snow. The voice let out a howling giggle I could only assume had come at my expense, and I immediately shot to my feet.

  Look! It nibbled right through your shoe!

  I looked down for a split second to find my big toe peeking through the tattered shoe. My eyes swivelled back to the panicking creature. A strand of leather hung from one of its sharp teeth like a jacket on a peg hook.

  I was stunned. Terribly so. What the fuck is happening? The two of us exchanged a brief glance, my hands out in front as if I was trying to keep a dog from attacking me, and stilled.

  Then its bulging eyes narrowed.

  With a curt and determined snort, the small creature began waddling. Each rotation of its feet sent its head swinging from side to side as if rocking a broken pendulum. Gaping imprints were left on the ground with every inch it grew to cover. As soon as I made to turn my back on it and run, I felt my body freeze. June's a little chicken! June's a little chicken! Haha.

  I dry-swallowed. No matter how hard I pleaded, my body refused to act. It was irrational, and I was sure I had it in me to approach this differently, but something seemed to have nailed my feet to the snow.

  They wouldn't move.

  My legs just wouldn't move.

  I think it's aiming for your manhood, bub.

  The small beast bent all four of its legs. Its knees slumped to reach the ground and its matted hair fell over its eyes. The glint in its sharp teeth told me all I needed to know.

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  It was going to pounce.

  I locked eyes with the creature--

  And something set off deep inside my brain. My senses were shouting at me, burning with an anger so tangible it had brought my chest to a roaring throb. Every synapse my body seemed to be capable of forming joined to force my hands up the air. My arms stretched, my teeth clenched, and the fierce energy simmering about my chest slithered its way up my shoulders. It shot right over my elbows and coalesced down my palms. As my hands moved to grip the air, it settled.

  The demon leaped. The thing's gaping mouth opened a few inches more. Its small body hurtled through the air and beelined for my neck, whistling against the wind as it traveled at full speed.

  Then I brought my hands down. Swiftly, and with a quick flick like that of a painting brush, I traced a line down the air.

  Only then did I realize that the hellish creature wasn't pouncing anymore. Instead, its body lay weakly on the grass. With its innards dripping out of its body, each half of the creature had found its way beside me.

  Not bad, bub.

  The monster had been sliced in half.

  And in my hands, shining a deep crimson the color of the moon, was the sword that had cut it.

  Not bad at all.

  ???

  Do kids not tickle your fancy?

  A squishy face like that of a baby. Two miniature swords that seemed to hover around its back. A set of slapping wings that worked to keep it afloat. A diaper, deep red eyes, and a head of hair the color of obsidian.

  Those were the features of the toddler-shaped cherub whose voice had been tormenting me no more than five-odd minutes ago.

  I stared at it matter-of-factly. "What a frightening sentence," I said.

  You'll get used to it, bub. Everyone does.

  There was too much happening at once. Keeping a level head was proving to be as difficult as this situation was bizarre, but I'd come to learn a great deal these last five minutes.

  For starters, bringing that sword to life had unearthed the mosquito-like voice that'd been bugging me earlier. It's no surprise to say that it belonged to the floating baby who was currently engaged in some sort of magical air acrobatics.

  Because magic was no longer a thing of fiction, it seemed.

  The baby had identified itself as my sentinel. Everyone's got one of those now! It's, like, super-duper in fashion these days. I had a vague recollection of being told to call for a 'sentinel' at the end of the assessment, but that memory, too, began fading the second I found myself here.

  Despite that, I still didn't quite understand what its role was--or why it showed itself to me in the first place. When I tried to dig deeper, it spun in the air awkwardly as though a moving knuckleball and held its belly in laughter before responding with a candid, You're funny. Don't you know babies don't have jobs?

  But the more pressing issue was the sword-shaped elephant in the room.

  "What was that I did earlier?" I asked the baby, my eyes glued to the shining sword as if the flying toddler wasn't a bigger mystery.

  I think it's easier if I just show you.

  The baby brought both of his hands together. Once it finished improvising a little dance where its right arm moved this way and its left leg that way, a shining window like the one I'd seen back in the assessment popped up in front of me.

  I blinked. "Woah."

  June Nordeen

  Path of the Unfettered Sword

  Class: Swordsman

  Transformation Level: 1

  Transformation Circle: First

  Summoning Level: LOCKED

  Summoning Circle: LOCKED

  Physical Augmentation Level: 1

  Physical Augmentation Circle: First

  My name was hovering on the topmost portion of the window with bold lettering and the same red color from earlier. Below it, cascading down the pop-up box like a shopping list, was a bunch of elaborate lingo I presumed had something to do with what had happened when I fought the small creature. Swordsman class? Is that how I managed that earlier?

  I turned back to the baby, hoping that it'd be able to elaborate on what any of these words meant--

  Pretty impressive, right? I just wish I knew what this 'system' thing is about. It is pretty dark in here, so maybe you use the windows as a flashlight?

  …Is this thing stupid?

  Suddenly, it thrust a chubby hand at my face before grinning with a very unadulterated kind of pride I hadn't known a toddler to be capable of. Oh, I almost forgot! There's a window I still haven't shown you!

  The window with my name on it disappeared. In its place, hovering against the dark crimson sky with dim edges and blocky letters, was an even bigger and even brighter window.

  Path of the Unfettered Sword

  I was four when I first cut through a rock. I was seven when I first slashed through a mountain. And I was twelve when I first let the sun up the sky. Our heavenly creator is just. They know shortcomings are only as heavy as men make them be.

  A restriction binds your soul. In exchange for the complete inability to use basic summoning magic, your body becomes substantially more attuned to the workings of physical augmentation.

  This limitation cannot be circumvented. Attempting to do so may result in injury or death.

  "Are... restrictions a normal thing for people to have?"

  I wouldn't know, bub. My master always told me that I can be whatever I want to be.

  What the hell was I expecting the baby to say?*

  But you do need a path to use energy. That's common knowledge.

  I looked down at the sword for the nth time now, examining its features as I ran a finger over a string of carved text on the blade. The color on the metal was starting to die down. Only a couple of minutes had passed and the bright crimson hue it sported had already been snuffed to a dim and lacking red. "Is this sword made of 'energy', then?"

  Haha. What a funny question. What else would it be made of, silly?

  There was no doubt in my mind that the alien energy I felt coursing inside my chest was the same energy that the baby was referring to now. But I could tell something was off. A sharp pang would travel down my stomach and again up my chest when I attempted to replicate what I'd done earlier.

  And it was exactly when I found myself trying to relive that feeling a fourth time that the sword dissipated out of my hand and into the air. Small motes of bright white energy lifted to travel alongside the snow and were anything but visible by the time I registered what had happened.

  I blinked. "Baby."

  Yes?

  "How do I make one of these swords again?"

  You wait until you have the energy, of course.

  "And what if I don't want to wait?"

  In that case, you can start by eating a demon. Like our sliced friend over there.

  "...Say what, now?"