No trial today. Just more Union vids. Same slogans, same smiles. Same promises that don’t mean anything once you’ve lived inside the system. I keep wondering what happens if I don’t show up one day. Would they send soldiers? My Dad? Drag me out in cuffs in front of class? The picture makes me laugh, but not for long. Not funny if it actually happens.
Noah was bleeding again. He laughed it off, like he always does. I hate that about him — pretending it’s nothing. My healer is too low-level to even patch a scrape, and Noah jokes while the blood runs. The Union calls this progress.
Collected 41 level 2 cores. Umbral ones. Texture still disgusting, cold that clings to the skin even after you drop them. Two plants worth noting. One with tiny hooked spines — might sketch later if I remember.
math check. core merge formula: 4^(n-1).
1 → 1
2 → 4
3 → 16
4 → 64
5 → 256
6 → 1,024
7 → 4,096
8 → 16,384
9 → 65,536
10 → 262,144
numbers climb like a cliff. impossible to scale. checked three times, still absurd.
Level 22 slime core equals about four trillion level 1s. enough to fill the academy yard with buckets. enough to drown the place in slimes.
merge skill tax makes it worse. every merge slows progression, like punishment. maybe that is the joke — the system hands you something brilliant, then makes you choke on it.
estimated xp cost to brute force level 22: three hundred thousand levels.
Sure. Let me get right on that.
still… duplicate cores are gold.
Can’t just throw them away. Shouldn’t waste them. Maybe push one to level 6, test the ceiling, see what really happens.
Note to self: eat. Almost skipped again. Body feels thin. Mind sharper, maybe, but shaky.
Merge isn’t trash. Not if I’m careful. But if I was stupid, I might stay low level forever. For that, I can see why it’s considered trash.
do not overuse. do not get trapped.
Rem stepped from the Trial Arch, the last to finish again. The vortex shimmered behind him, constant and steady, its pale light pooling across the courtyard stones even against the late-afternoon sun. His shirt clung with sweat. Dirt streaked his trousers where he had made sure to scuff them up. At least it looked like he had tried. He didn’t bother checking the results board. He could already feel the eyes pressing into him, hear the mutters rolling through the crowd.
Another last place. More jokes at his expense. That wasn’t the part that bothered him. The challenge math didn’t add up. He needed more data.
“Rembrandt de Vries.”
The name cracked across the courtyard. Eva Smit’s voice carried, sharp and deliberate.
Perfect. Just perfect.
Students spilled from the arches, some collapsing on the grass with laughter, others groaning. But Eva walked a straight line, cutting through the dispersing tide. Her black-and-silver weave caught the light like polished steel. Her dark hair was pulled into its severe knot, not a strand loose despite the heat. Sweat marked her brow, but her stride radiated such control that students straightened as she passed.
She stopped in front of him. The courtyard stilled. Pale-blue eyes pinned him, lips pressed thin, trembling with restraint. Her fingers twitched once, then stilled behind her back.
“What exactly are you playing at?”
Rem raked a hand through his tangled hair, feigning ease. “What do you mean?”
“You’re last again.” Her voice cracked like a whip, but the edge caught on something softer before she forced it through. “And don’t pretend it’s chance. You're losing on purpose. How am I supposed to feel good about first place if you won’t even try?”
That was Eva. Every test, every score had to be hers. Yet her eyes held him too long, as if demanding something more than numbers. He looked away from her intense gaze.
Around them, classmates pressed closer. Mara Jansen, tall and composed, folded her arms, chin tipped high. Beside her, Noah shifted uneasily, his open face creased with worry, as if hunting for a joke that could defuse the air.
Rem shrugged, dry. “Sorry I’m not structuring my life around your ego.”
The crowd hissed, tension rising like heat off stone.
“Whoa, hey.” Noah slid between them, hands raised. His voice strained for brightness, wobbling. “He’s trying, man, you can see it. Look at him—guy’s wiped. That’s gotta count for something, I don’t know.”
Bram Visser’s blunt voice cut from the edge: “Effort’s nothing if you still lose. If he doesn’t want to fight, let him quit.”
“Actually,” Finn van Dijk began, clinical as ever, “his times don’t follow the normal curve. If you graphed—”
“Not the time, Finn,” someone muttered, half-laughing.
“He isn’t trying,” Mara said, calm and measured. Her voice didn’t rise, but the judgment landed like a verdict. “If he were, the numbers would show it.”
Eva stiffened, then faltered under the murmurs circling her. She lowered her voice, though her spine stayed rigid. “You’re slipping, Rem. What happens when they split us by level? You know it’s coming right?”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
For an instant, her lips parted as if she might say something else. Instead she held his gaze, knuckles whitening.
“Fine. You want answers?” Rem raised his voice so everyone could hear. “The world went insane while I was out. Now all my friends are marching to the Union’s drum. Good cadets grinding dailies like rats in a maze.”
His voice dropped, tight. “Maybe I’m the crazy one. But from here? You’re swallowing everything they feed you. And I’m telling you, it doesn’t add up.”
“This is the world now.” Mara stepped forward, calm but implacable. Her voice was smooth, almost bored. “Adjust or fall behind. We did the work. You haven’t.”
“Hold on.” Noah frowned, scratching his neck. “You’re in challenges every day, same as us. So… what are you saying?”
“I’m not,” Rem said.
Eva’s shoulders snapped straighter, though her chin tilted a breath lower, betraying the crack in her certainty. “Explain.”
“I’m in them,” he said, “but not like you.” He let the silence stretch. Then leaned in. “Answer this. Do level one slimes follow the law of conservation of mass and energy?”
Eva’s eyes narrowed, insulted. “Of course. Everything does.”
“Slimes don’t.”
“That’s absurd,” Mara said, clipped, like correcting a faulty calculation.
Rem shook his head. Noah’s gaze ping-ponged between them, lips parted as if he’d lost the thread.
“Trap a slime in a bucket and keep stabbing. It splits. And splits. The bucket overflows. Dozens, hundreds, all worth the same energy as the original when you kill them.”
The air went heavy. Eva’s lips parted but no sound followed. Her hands curled tight, like she was holding onto something only she could feel.
“You’d never notice if you just hammered through,” Rem pressed. “But test it, and the math unravels. That’s when I understood.”
He scanned their faces, then lowered his voice. “These aren’t arenas. They’re classrooms. Union kids, six years old, use the same trials. You think they hand children swords and tell them to kill? No. They’re puzzles. Lessons. And everyone’s rushing through them without learning basic things, like the physics we thought we knew don’t work there.”
“So what?” Mara’s reply was steady, dismissive. “You waste time stabbing buckets while the rest of us complete the objectives? That doesn’t make you wiser. Just slower.”
“No.” Rem’s voice cracked sharp. “It means something is wrong. They promised even ground, fair rules. But this? It’s a curriculum. And if you rush it, you miss the foundation. Build fast on sand, it all collapses later. That’s why I quit every trial. I won’t chase some distant prize and miss the lessons hidden in each challenge.”
Eva’s voice wavered, for once unsteady. “That’s madness. You’re throwing away the advantage we’ve got.”
Her jaw worked. Whatever else she meant to say, she smothered it.
“You only think it’s an advantage. I don’t know why the Union is pushing everyone to sprint when this is clearly a marathon. But hopefully you figure it out before it’s too late.”
Eva’s jaw flexed, but whatever words rose, she swallowed. Her eyes lingered too long, sharp and searching.
Noah rubbed the back of his neck, unease plain on his face. “Look… maybe there’s truth on both sides, yeah? Union’s given us a good system for advancement. But maybe Rem’s not crazy either.” His voice fell soft, apologetic, as though ashamed to take Rem’s side.
Silence pressed in.
At last Mara stepped forward. Her voice was even, cold as glass. “Do what you want, Rem. But don’t drag us down with you.”
She hooked an arm through Eva’s and pulled her away. Eva resisted for a heartbeat, eyes still locked on him, then let herself be led.
Mara’s glare lingered, sharp enough to cut. Noah trailed after them, shoulders sagging, giving Rem a helpless shrug as he went.
Rem stayed behind.
“They’re the ones falling behind,” he muttered. “They just can’t see it.” The words fell to the ground with no one to hear them.
Day 9, L2 Challenge
Trial day at school. Last again. Everyone saw. Everyone whispered. Same story, same sting. Argued with Eva and Mara afterward — Noah tried to patch things up, useless. Doesn’t matter. I’m right. I can taste it.
Challenge run: two plants, thirty-five cores. Routine. Then the system hiccuped.
tracking merge cost:
- yesterday: 14 shrills → 7 merges → 10 XP each empty. essence gone.
- today: same input, 14 shrills → 7 merges → 10 XP each, no crash.
same input. different result. does not add up. either merge cost is not fixed, or something is feeding essence back in — a leak, a background process, a union trick. all plausible. all ugly.
thrive keeps no readable history. no logs to pull afterward. that omission is intentional.
The Union doesn’t make obvious mistakes; they remove breadcrumbs.
projection note: merge domain doubles each level. By L7 or L8 it is physically large enough to step inside. Not that I’d do that. Would I? (Don’t think about it. Don’t.)
Self-merge thought = bad. Imagine fusing with a rock: permanent statue. Horrifying.
potential though.
needs more tests. repeat the pattern. count kills, merges, xp, time, instance seed if possible. vary input where safe. keep experiments small and deniable. hide duplicates.
Don’t draw the wrong eyes.
suggestion. kill caravan members for essence. need to verify respawn capability. determine whether they are real people or simulacra.
Absolutely not. That makes me sick to think about it. Don’t follow that line of thought – find another way.
Weird dream last night: back in Level 1, I drop a vial of duplicating water into the brook; the glass breaks, water mixed with stream and it duplicates. It keeps duplicating until the whole ravine fills. I woke gasping — drowning in my dream. Keep dreaming about ways to break the system. Wish brain would shut off for a night.
Note: keep duplicating stuff hidden. Keep testing.
Day 10, L2 Challenge
Eva called. Hung up before I answered. Strange. Probably nothing. Or not nothing. Hard to tell with her.
eight hours in challenge today. checked the math three times to be sure. experiment confirms: am pulling essence from somewhere at ~0.21 percent every hour. absorbing ambient essence? a leak? a gift?
quick calculation: could level without challenges in about twenty days just by waiting. not sure should even be writing this down.
Yeah. It feels dangerous to leave proof.
Challenge itself was fine. Two plants. Thirty-seven cores. Enough now to clear one properly and test potions. Question: will lilies regrow after harvest, or are they one-use only? If I take one out, will it wilt before I can get it back into the challenge instance?
do not want to waste a day.
Probably have to.
Bored of this challenge already. Mechanics feel shallow once you poke them. Need more experiments. Bigger ones.
Day 11, L2 Challenge
Challenge fine. Two plants. Thirty-two cores.
I was an idiot. Merged a candle flame with a slime core. Duplicating fire = explosion. Face and hand burned. Could’ve been worse.
Merged four level 1 healers into a level 2 healer to patch myself up. Potion worked, though it made me sick for two hours. Still better than burning alive.
But now I’ve got more questions. Why did the fire stop duplicating? Energy doesn’t just vanish. Where did it go? Same with the locker — where does the air come from when there are no vents? And the lights… why do they never flicker, never fade? Nothing in this system feels natural once you look too closely.
I keep telling myself I’m doing dumb things, but the dumb things are the only way forward. Need to move on, though. This challenge is running out of answers.
Trial tomorrow. Wonder if I can get away with sleeping in.
Four more days until I break this level.
[STAR CORPS — FIRST FLIGHT COMMENDATION]
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