I squinted at the glowing list, then focused on one of the few things that sounded remotely useful in combat.

  So this was why I’d only managed around 8 to 9 damage out of the possible 15 for every strike.

  This was useless.

  This was not as useless, but still pretty awful.

  Fine. Maybe I wasn’t born for battle. But surely, surely, my silver tongue made up for it.

  I scrolled down and opened the next one with something dangerously close to optimism.

  My only functional skill got negated by my own existence.

  I blinked. So it only works once?

  It doesn’t seem entirely useless at least. But to imagine this is a Level 10 skill...

  Oh Saints preserve me.

  “Oh Saints preserve me,” I heard myself say aloud, in flawless baritone.

  Ceralis. Turn that one off.

  “Silence your insolent tongue, lest I tear the voice from my very soul and cast it into the void,” I said.

  “Mmm?” Anabeth tilted her head. “Are you speaking to invisible devils, Ser?”

  And then—

  Do I have any skills that make me... not terrifying?

  Oh yeah. That.

  Oh wait. This is actually pretty good. That might have been why I was able to do super quick maths after getting hit the first time by the slime.

  And finally...

  Ah, I had this skill.

  People liked to imagine knights as well-fed bludgeons with vows, but the Order had always been touchy about appearances. A knight was meant to be educated, to have proof that discipline elevated steel rather than replacing thought.

  Math had applications, of course, mainly in rations, march timing, weight tolerances on bridges that didn’t want to collapse under armored men, angles of impact, force distribution. The boring, survivable parts of warfare.

  But mostly, it existed so no one could call us brutes.

  When Sir Roland took me in, there were still a few knights left—few enough to be territorial about it. They hadn’t liked the idea of an orphan squire. A charity case in armor, I remembered it was Sir Rufus who had said that. Sir Roland had argued back with the same ferocity he brought to duels.

  Give the boy a subject, he’d said. Any subject. If he cannot master it, I will concede your point.

  They’d let me choose.

  I picked mathematics. Then I became reasonably good at it. Good enough that no one argued when Sir Roland called me his squire again.

  Anabeth cleared her throat. “Sir Henry, if I may... when are you planning to resume combat?”

  Ah, right.

  The slime was still there.

  I gazed at my status.

  I was also perfectly fine.

  Straightening my back with renewed ‘righteous posture,’ I declared, “Very well. I shall resume battle immediately.”

  I lifted my sword, feeling every joint complain in perfect harmony. Anabeth was saying something, but I no longer registered her words. Feeling the weight of the sword steady in my hands, I stepped forth.

  I knew what I had to do now. I just had to fight until I was slightly fatigued... then take a hit on purpose. Activating Enduring Will should turn the pain into focus, and I would ride the wave. Simple arithmetic.

  I lunged forward. The slime quivered and lashed out. I sidestepped, swung, counted damage output. Fifteen this time. Better form. I kept the pressure on until I felt the first burn in my shoulders, the slight fog in my head. Perfect.

  Then I let the thing slap me.

  The blow landed with a wet thwack against my chestplate.

  My health bar dipped a fraction, but—

  There it was.

  The ache in my limbs cleared. I could feel the clarity in my head. The slime moved a little slower now, about a step and a half away. The swing I’d need wasn’t precise, but it felt right.

  Yes. I had this.

  I could finish this in one go—

  A burst of light detonated beside me. I turned around and saw Anabeth, arm outstretched, murmuring some overly dramatic incantation while her hair floated like she was in an invisible breeze that she had conjured purely for effect.

  “I nearly had it!” Anabeth’s voice rang out, bright, composed, and far too pleased with herself for someone who had just detonated a sun beside my head. “I’ll have you know, I am a High Distinction student. Your affinity may elude me for now, my good Sir, but I will discern the moment you draw upon aether. Conceal it all you like. I shall catch you unaware.”

  ‘What in all Saints’ names are you doing?’ I barked.

  Ceralis, faithful to its cursed sense of drama, translated my exasperation into something altogether different.

  “Impudent sorceress!” I thundered, voice booming with unnatural reverb, “your defiance shall be punished, once I’ve crushed this abomination!”

  Anabeth actually grinned, eyes glittering with challenge as she twirled her hair. “Ohhh, I’ll look forward to that, Ser!”

  The slime gurgled.