Weapons of Mass Destruction

Chapter 623: Trait Specialist

As I was told, the Professor I’m supposed to be getting lessons from this time is an old man. Possibly the oldest one I’ve seen on the floor, looking like he is in his late seventies. All gray-haired, with a mustache that looks like he could sweep up snacks in it, and a slight belly.

The signs I usually look for when estimating someoneʼs level are almost impossible to feel from him, and his mana is perfectly contained.

That makes me wonder. Let’s say you have 1000 points in constitution. Wouldn’t you think that’d keep your body in perfect shape for a pretty long time? By most logic, it probably should, but the things I’ve seen don’t really seem to support that theory.

I guess that even with high stats, your body will continues to degrade, and the rate only slows when you break through into the higher levels. For now, it seems that around the time you start getting body upgrades, it slows the aging process. Possibly even more so when one becomes a Champion, and even more when reaching Absolute.

Kyralon is rumored to be one of the oldest Absolutes in the system, likely thousands of years old. But how long can he actually live? Thousands more? Is he already degrading and starting to weaken?

How would it even look if your stats show 1000 strength, but you are close to death? Are these stats ”weaker”? Will the system show less strength to reflect the change? Will you still have that much strength?

What also comes to mind is that it is our brains and hearts that degrade. But if that is the case, how would healers be able to affect these organs?

I know some things are difficult to heal, and that some people advise against healing certain things at all. But if your heart were degrading, could you not restore despite the risk, or by using your resources as a Champion or Absolute to get a new one? Could you not fix your brain as well? The main question I have regards how difficult these things truly are, but more and more questions keep popping up.

In the end, I stay with the conclusion that it is possible to extend your life through means that some might consider unnatural. But it’s likely to be difficult, and the things I can think of that could make it possible might affect you negatively. Otherwise, everyone would do it. It is also possible that some people simply do not want to live that long.

Humans on Earth are used to living 60 to 80 years, mostly, and in rare cases, over 100. What would happen to a person who, by evolution, was made for such an age and then suddenly could live ten times longer? New generations born to these people would likely deal with it better, but the first generation would probably be quite messed up.

Yup, just like us. Thereʼs a bright future ahead of us. Surely.

Damn, now I’m sure I’m going to be thinking about this the rest of the day, especially about the implications of the possibility of stats degrading. It feels like either the system is not omnipotent, or it is purposefully not giving enough power for people to live forever.

Forcefully, I clear my thoughts and continue walking toward the small lake where the Professor sits on a bench with his eyes closed. There are no students around, and this area is heavily restricted. I even needed a permit to get here. Even the arrays are different from those at the Academy.

As for the Professor, he continues to sit there as I stand over him, caught off guard by his lack of response. His head wobbles a bit, and I get the strong suspicion he might be sleeping.

After waiting a minute and getting no reaction, I shrug and walk over to the bank of the lake, searching the ground for the best flat rocks. Even the ones that are less than perfect, I pick them up and grind them down a bit by oscillating my mana around them. Then, without boosting my body, I swing and throw a rock to send it skipping across the surface.

It goes terribly. The throw has too much force behind it, and the rock hits the middle of the lake where water splashes high into the air, as the rock sinks to the bottom.

The next time, I change the angle and actively hold myself back before throwing again. This time, the spinning rock makes a few skips before sinking.

I glance down at the rocks I have collected and pick up another one. I give it a much stronger spin, lower myself more, and leaning into the perfect angle, I throw it, sure of the result. The rock bounces across the surface of the lake, then flies high into the air and over the lake to hit the trees on the opposite side.

I pick up another one and look at it.

It is a gray, normal rock. Somewhat flat, with a scar on its side where I used oscillating mana to remove an edge. Looking at it, I hold it between my thumb and forefinger and press. The rock cracks immediately, and the pieces crumble into fine dust between my fingers.

I feel no damage to my skin, no resistance, and I didn’t even need to use any strengthening.

So powerful.

Even after two years, little things like this make me giddy.

Instead of a small flat rock, a massive boulder catches my attention, a stone wider than me and standing waist-high. It might as well be a boulder. I grip it, then with a bit of effort, lift it and throw it up, high into the air. It rises to the height of a multi-story building before crashing into the center of the lake, sending up another massive splash.

Taking a few steps, I sit next to the sleeping Professor and close my eyes as well. Out of boredom, I start trying to estimate how much each minute of this lesson, which has already started, costs me based on the shards I spent on the lesson, and then I convert it to the value of items.

Maybe this is some sort of test where I have to prove I deserve his teachings. Maybe he’s going to ask me to wash his car.

I turn to my left, where the old Professor is still quiet.

I hope he’s not dead.

Turning away again, I enter my mind and start training with those impossible shapes that cause such irritating pain. It feels like something is burning in a number of places in my brain. But more importantly, I make progress.

These shapes, as weird as they are, start to feel more and more real. I even start imagining mana sliding across their surfaces. I also start experimenting by splitting my mind into as many parts as possible, or sometimes just splitting into two and cycling the one in control, trying to make the transfer as smooth as possible.

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When it is ten minutes before the end of the lesson, the Professor finally snorts and wakes up from the noise he made. After a lightning quick scan, he turns to the right and jumps up, surprised.

”Holy hell, by the dried tits of the Desert Witches, you scared me, you little shit!”

”Iʼm sorry.” I apologize.

He snorts, ”At least you have some manners. What do you want?”

”I paid for a lesson, most of which you’ve slept through.”

The old man yawns and scratches his mustache like he might pull a snack out of it any second. ”Lesson, huh? Shit, boy, half the bastards around here could use a nap more than another fancy lesson.”

He leans back on the bench, cracking his neck loudly enough that it sounds like dry wood snapping. ”You think waving your money around means I owe you something? You’re just lucky I didn’t beat your ass for waking me up.”

”I see. Thank you.”

He squints at me like I’m some kind of stain he’s deciding whether to clean or ignore. ”Fine. You paid, you’ll get your damn lesson. The first thing you’ll learn: mana is a bitch, and it loves nothing more than kicking idiots in the teeth.”

He spits to the side, just missing his boot. ”Second lesson: patience. You sit, you wait, and when I decide you’re worth the breath, you might just learn something that keeps you alive longer than a wet fart in a hurricane.”

The Professor taps the side of his head with one bony finger. ”Try training your brain, boy. Not your muscles.”

I nod. ”I see. Amazing. I was told you know a lot about traits.”

”You little turd, I personally hammered two of today’s Champions into something halfway useful, and you stand there talking to me in that tone?”

”Iʼm sorry.”

”Pah. A hundred years ago, I would have ripped your head off.”

”That would be a perfectly understandable reaction.”

”Damn right, it would. Now, spit it out. What are your traits? Let’s see if you’re even worth the shit stuck to my boot.”

”Mana Wavelength Iris and Mana Physique.”

For the first time, he pauses and seems to think. As if remembering things, maybe doing calculations or something else entirely. ”Strengthenings?”

”Two for Mana Wavelength Iris and zero for Physique.”

”Second strengthening for that trait already? Tell me your level, and donʼt lie to me. In my time, we showed our skill levels, traits, and levels with pride and simply beat the shit out of each other to prove who was stronger. Not this cowardly bullshit people like to do nowadays by hiding it all.”

”Level 309.”

”By the rotten balls of the Head Accountant, how are you still alive? Can you even handle using Mana Wavelength Iris?”

”Yes, I have passive and active skills to help me deal with it.”

”Names, just give me the names.”

”Mana-Fortified Mind, low arcane, Mental Attunement Loop, mid arcane, and [Focus].”

”Huh, surprisingly enough, you arenʼt all that bad at all. [Focus] is one of the best concentration-type skills there is, and having two arcane passives at your level... I could ask a lot of awkward questions, but I wonʼt be nosy.”

I want to ask him if it is not too late for that, but I eventually decide to stay quiet.

”I appreciate that,” I say.

He takes some time to think again and then turns to me. His tone is more serious than before.

”Some might tell you that level and, in conclusion, stats are the most important thing to focus on. Others might sing the praises of active skills, dedicating their entire lives to breaking higher. There are even a few who strive for the best possible passive, a combination of multiple passives that give them a perfect, unique one that never existed within the system. Others might rely on primordial energies, fragments, items, inscriptions, knowledge, all that nonsense.”

The old Professor waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. ”They’re all wrong in my opinion, and that’s the only opinion that matters to me. Traits are more important than any of them. The perfect combination of traits can make you stronger than any passive or high level skill.”

I want to disagree with him, but I’m curious too, so I listen. I have long since learned there are many people, each with their own different view of things, just as this Professor mentioned.

”Back in my youth, I was damn well known for it. At barely over level 400, I was beating the snot out of fresh Champions till they ran crying to cling to their mommiesʼ skirts.”

Standing up from the bench in a movement that belies his old appearance, he smiles under that mustache. ”Oh, those were the times. Dozens of people telling me I was wrong, only for me to beat the crap out of ‘em. They called me The Tyrant back then.”

The Professor stands there for a moment, staring out over the lake like he’s still considering whether it’s even worth wasting his breath on me.

”Remember this, boy,” his voice is rough but steady. ”Skills fade. Stats can rot with time. Equipment breaks. Even strength itself can betray you when you least expect it.”

He taps the side of his head with one bony finger. ”But traits... traits are different. If you choose right, if you strengthen and synchronize them properly, they will carry you further than any sword or skill ever could.”

I don’t say it out loud, but once again, I don’t completely agree with him. As much as I dislike Lissandra, I do share her belief that active skills matter the most.

Still, I’m curious about the Professor’s explanations. If his talk is to be believed, he used to be powerful. Even if it’s only to sate my curiosity, I want to hear what he has to say.

”Humans,” he says, ”we get the shit end of the stick. Some races pop out of the womb with traits already polishing their asses. Us? We have to start with nothing and pray we donʼt screw it up.”

He glances at me with that same judging look from before. ”Three traits. That’s all you get. Pick wrong and it doesn’t matter if you cry about your choices for the rest of your life, thatʼs it.”

Once again, the old man drops back onto the bench with a grunt.

”Synchronization of traits,” he says, rapping two knuckles against his head. ”It’s the only way. Your traits need to feed into each other, build each other up. Thankfully, you didn’t completely screw up your first two traits. With a bit of luck on the third, maybe you won’t be totally useless. You’ll get that third trait at level 400. Heck, you might kick the bucket before then, but if you’re an optimist, I’ll tell you about all the things you could do until then to get the best trait possible, the options you might have, and the best ways to get the most out of your traits.”

Without waiting for any dumb questions, he starts talking.

An hour passes in a blur while he goes on about strengthening traits, rare chances for evolutions, hidden upgrades the system barely hints exist. He doesn’t sugarcoat anything and talks about how idiots pick flashy traits and end up strong for a year, before ending up dead in a ditch.

He also brings up a few things I could do to acquire the best third trait possible at level 400. Surprisingly, he even recommends some books. Apparently, thereʼs a lot of theory behind it.

After a while, as if realizing he is doing it for free, he stops.

”That is enough for today. Go chew on it before your tiny brain melts,” he says, waving me off.

I stand up and give a single nod, doing my best to remember as much as I can.

I’ll have to find an excuse to annoy this guy again in the future.