The Humble Life of a Skill Trainer

Without warning, but with a well-practiced flick of the wrist, I sliced through the top layer of exposed skin of the man strapped to the table. Squealing in pain, he rocked back and forth as he tried to rip the padded leather cuffs from the table. It wouldn’t happen, of course, the inside of the straps were reinforced with steel cord. I had made the mistake of using leather and fur lining with my first pair. That mistake had left me running from a merchant guard to keep from being beaten to death.

I had prepared better since then.

The leather was reinforced, but the inside was still lined with rabbit fur to protect the arms. At the shoulder, I had added a long strap that crossed from one side of the table to the other, it wouldn’t do for the young man to rip the muscles in his shoulder in his struggles either. The strap crossing his chest was stretching slightly with each heave of his breath, and I made a mental note to inspect my equipment when I was done with my client to ensure that it was in prime condition.

Checking that the layer of skin I had removed was only gently weeping blood, I rubbed purified salt along the open wound to his gagged screams. I was still annoyed about his lack of [Pain Tolerance]. The young man had bragged multiple times about his [Pain Tolerance] level, but according to his Status, it was still only at three points. He had plenty of room for improvement.

Using the deep and scratchy voice I had long perfected, I rasped through the slit in my mask.

“Focus on the pain. Work through the pain. You must overcome it,” I said, using the same cadence and volume as I had for hours. I had found that repeating my words could be almost soothing for some clients. For others, it acted as a prod that drove them forward. For this young man, Robert Taldenson, son of the town’s wealthiest merchant, it seemed to be meditative. That was a problem.

While I slowly shuffled over to the potion rack, my movements intentionally appearing aged and pain-filled, I considered what it would take to finally finish this commission. With a healing potion in my hands, I returned to the strapped down teenager who was breathing deeply in and out. His eyes had gone glassy and far-seeing, a bad sign. The boy had done this each time. He had moved beyond the pain. He wasn’t letting [Pain Tolerance] help him struggle past the pain, he was using [Focused Thought] instead.

Twitching again with the pain of regrowing skin, the teenager’s vision refocused on the ugly mask that covered my face. His eyes tried to drill through the blackened glass and into mine beneath. I had long gotten used to the glares of my clients, the death threats, and the gnashing of teeth through gags. Yet, it never stopped being a worry. Which one of my clients would be unable to deal with the humiliation and pain I brought them? Yes, they signed up for it - or like in the case of this young man - their parents did, but since when did reasonability matter? Which would refuse to accept that I had full access to their Status even if my reputation for never abusing that privilege was unmatched?

Shaking away my straying thoughts, I turned my mind back to the boy. I had to focus on my [Trainer] skill to fully utilize it to its maximum. It was a poor teacher who ignored a student.

Pulling a long thin needle from my rack of torture devices, I held it up in front of the young man’s eyes.

“You seem to be trying to ignore the pain by retreating into your mind. I admire your skill at avoiding pain, but that is not why we are here. You are to learn the full depths of pain and work through it, you must not block out the world around you,” I said in my odd rasping voice and measured accent, the words just slightly off from how a native Valdirian would speak.

Tapping the needle on the boy’s nose as his eyes crossed to keep the point in focus, I continued.

“No! You are to be staying here, in this world, not to be thinking of the world in your head. The pain must be conquered, not ignored,” I said before I pulled on the lever, which rotated the table into an upright position.

“Now, I will be driving this needle into your body. I will be doing so at an irregular rate, you will be not ignoring, or I will be using acid. Yes? Good,” I said, hamming up the accent a bit more at the end to really drive it home in the young man’s mind.

Stepping behind his body, I applied the heatstone to the tip of the needle. Then selected a spot through the mesh of steel and padding of the table. It cost me an inordinate amount to create a metal meshed padded table able to hold a strong person comfortably while giving me access to their back. Being able to focus on my clients where they could not see me and from an unexpected direction was worth its weight in gold.

Darting forward, I drove the very tip of the red hot needle into the flesh above the young man’s buttocks to the sounds of gasped screams. Even in the most athletic of men, this region usually had a small collection of fat, which was perfect to lance and burn.

Anatomy has advanced to 37.

Backstab has advanced to 33.

I tried to avoid smiling at my skill increases. The boy wouldn’t see it given my location behind him and my costume and mask, but one thing you learn in this business was that anyone could have an odd skill and not to take things for granted. I was hoping that focusing on maintaining my calm even while getting a skill up would give me a point in [Acting], but I had no such luck.

One of the benefits of the job was being able to work on many unique skills that others may not be able to practice. [Backstab] was an ordinary enough skill for a back alley cutpurse with a taste for murder. It was almost unheard of for someone with a legal profession.

By the third needle jab, I was happy to see in his Status that young Taldenson’s [Pain Tolerance] was rising. It was at five and climbing, but my joy was short-lived when I noticed his [Rage] resource was growing as well. The boy had been coddled by his father and spent too many afternoons at alehouses. He had picked up [Brawling] and [Fisticuffs] from his penchant for drinking and fighting. They were useful enough skills, but it was this behavior that allowed him to pick up [Berserker’s Rage].

[Berserker’s Rage] at the first tier would blacklist him from any higher military post. If the kingdom went to war, his father would be unable to purchase an officer posting for him. The senior Taldenson did not believe in leaving things to chance. That was why his fortune in shipping continued to grow. It was also why his son was strapped to my table.

When his Rage resource filled, he began to rage. His muscles swelled from the active effect. As he began to grow, I triggered the unique device I ordered for this commission. Without warning, a magical discharge of electricity crackled through the table and briefly jolted the young man into unconsciousness. Dripping the health potion into the long thin tubes of the needles and into my unconscious captive’s body, returned him to the world of the living.

Not even bothering to hold in my smile this time, I watched as the Rage resource drained quickly as he struggled through the groggy fog. That was the problem with the [Berserker’s Rage] skill. The user became fixated on their target and cut a swath through everything to maim and kill their opponent. They only come out of the rage when their target was dead, or the user lost consciousness. Usually, killing their target was the only thing that stopped the rampage. The exception, though, was right in the description of the Active Effect.

Berserker’s Rage - Tier 1: 15

Anger can be a source of power. Common in the lands of the far North, Berserker’s Rage converts Health loss and negative emotions into Rage. When the Rage becomes overwhelming, the berserker will fixate on the target of their anger, doing anything to kill their foe.

Passive Effect:

Unlocks the Rage resource.

-1% Emotional Stability.

Automatically Triggered when Rage resource is full.

Active Trigger Effect:

Automatically Cleared when Target is dead.

Automatically Cleared when User is in an altered mental state.

Synergistic with effects of Intoxication.

+25% Strength.

+80% Mental Resilience.

+80% Resistance to Stun.

+10% Resistance to Blood Loss.

+10% Resistance to Broken Bones.

-35% Intelligence.

After Effect:

Mild Pain and disorientation for at least 2 x duration of Active Trigger Effect.

-10% Strength.

-20% Mental Resilience.

-20% Resistance to Stun.

Which just went to show you that even when a skill had lots of positives, the negatives could outweigh them. This wasn’t the first [Berserker’s Rage] user I had trained, but this was the first time I was teaching someone without the second tier or an evolution of the skill. The real money for this job came not from training the boy to increase the level of [Berserker’s Rage]. It was in helping him convert it into its second tier, where he would have control over it. To do that, the boy had to be awake and aware and increasing his Rage. His low [Pain Tolerace] had been a surprise and a complication. The young man had lied to both his father and me when the contract was signed. His father would be forced to pay a bonus due to the extra efforts and resources spent.

Still, forcing the boy to raise his [Pain Tolerance] would pay dividends for him in the future. I was surprised the boy had such a low [Pain Tolerance] given that he had unlocked some of the hidden blood loss and broken bone features of the [Berserker’s Rage] skill. Those only came from using the skill when bleeding and suffering a broken bone. He hadn’t unlocked the enhanced stamina bonus. The fact he had never been accused of murder explained the lack, though. He would get angry at some bar, go into a rage, and then he would be knocked unconscious. Probably by the guards that his father had trooping after the spoiled boy.

With the second tier of the skill, he would be able to resist the automatic triggering effect. But that meant filling the Rage meter repeatedly and then resisting the skill's effect. His low [Pain Tolerance] had been a surprising difficulty since his [Focused Thought] had kept him from gaining Rage.

It took almost four hours more than originally scheduled for the job. Eventually, though, young Robert’s skill was raised into the second tier.

Berserker’s Rage - Tier 2: 15

Anger can be a source of power. Common in the lands of the far North, Berserker’s Rage converts Health loss and negative emotions into Rage. Focus and control are the hallmark of the northern warriors. Through practice and discipline, the Rage can be channeled and focused into an even greater effect.

Passive Effect:

Unlocks the Rage resource.

Can be Triggered when Rage resource is full.

Active Trigger Effect:

Automatically Cleared when Target is dead.

Automatically Cleared when User is in an altered mental state.

Synergistic with effects of Intoxication.

+35% Strength.

+80% Mental Resilience.

+80% Resistance to Stun.

+10% Resistance to Blood Loss.

+10% Resistance to Broken Bones.

-25% Intelligence.

After Effect:

Mild Pain and disorientation for at least the duration of the Active Trigger Effect.

-5% Strength.

-10% Mental Resilience.

-10% Resistance to Stun.

The improvements to the effect were minor overall. Still, it was so prized because of the ability to control the active trigger effect instead of being at its mercy. The third tier of the skill was even better, but the merchant hadn’t paid for that training. I hoped for some kind of rare evolution of the skill instead of it merely raising in a tier, but it had been a slim hope I would gain that bonus pay.

“Congratulations are to be awarded to you boy, you finally gained the tier of the second! Finally, our hard day is to be finished, and I can be going home. My apprentice will wait for me to be away, then he will be unlocking you,” I said as I returned the sweat-soaked and blood-streaked young man to a supine position with a pull of the table lever.

Slowly moving in an exaggerated shuffle, I stepped from my workroom and into the back of the shop. The moment the door was closed I yanked off the mask and threw it into the open chest designed to restrict the smell of its contents. A clasp at the front of my outfit released it, and it too joined the mask. Pulling my wild and unruly hair back, I ignored the sweat that dripped from my face and reached for the enchanted drying stone.

With a small touch of magic, the stone ripped the moisture from the surface of my body. The skin on my head began to itch from the dried sweat, and the crystals of hardened salt left behind. That stone was generally used for expensive leatherworking to accelerate the drying process of magical leathers. It had never been intended to remove sweat, and the resultant itching was why it would never be widespread. Though, it did allow for the quick ruse.

Pulling off the high heeled boots and the thick padding used to expand my waistline, I dropped them into the chest to be cleaned later. I glanced into the expensive full-length mirror to be sure everything was in line with a young apprentice. I nodded before I hunched my shoulders and opened the door back to the workroom.

“Young Master? I’m su…su...supposed to wait and then...en...en open the cuffs. My Master says that you…you…your father will have the bill for his work and the penalties sent around with me by the en…en…end of the day,” I said with an exaggerated stutter as I kept my eyes down and fingers twiddling with the edge of my shabby shirt.

Shuffling closer, I unlocked his cuffs and then stepped away from his reach. I was worried that the boy would try and release his frustrations on me. The reminder that his father would have to pay the penalty because of his lying tempered his actions. He looked around the room, and I could see the gears whirling in his mind. He was considering if he wanted to trash my workroom before he left. The reminder that he could suffer more than a financial penalty probably was the deciding factor. With full access to his Status, a requirement of the job, I - or at least my supposed Master - could do any number of horrible things to the boy to stunt him for life. I could magically force a name change, something that would haunt him on every magical contract until he could get it changed again. Even waste one of the few free skill points he had on some random skill he had no interest in but had gained purely by chance; [Northern Frior Goblin Language] came to mind.

That I was nearly curled up in fear and wearing ragged clothing - an obviously ignored and uncared for apprentice left behind to face his wrath - said that my ‘Master’ had left me just for this very reason. Venting his frustrations on me would be unsatisfying compared to seeking out and killing my Master directly.

Cursing me lightly, the broad-shouldered blond youth staggered to the door and out into the well soundproofed outer waiting room. The boy's guards formed up around him and helped him stagger from my shop. I knew the day would be a long one when the group marched into the appointment instead of following my explicit directions to arrive with a carriage. But then, that was what happens when you work for the rich and the famous. You had to bend to their whims.