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"Decorative books?" Emma wondered, reminded of the tradition many wealthy homeowners indulged in; stocking entire shelves of books boasting elegant exteriors and blank pages in an effort to appear more sophisticated.

"Of course, we wouldn\'t put actually valuable books here; this is a combat arena!" The overseer exclaimed. "Now, by the look of you, I clearly don\'t need to explain how to swing a sword, so instead let\'s get right into the calibration."

In a flash of red light, a massive target dummy emerged, adorned in obsidian and standing easily thrice her height.

"You have five minutes to do as much damage as you can to the target. Damaging the books on the walls or ceiling will incur a penalty for lacking control, but besides that, I advise that you hold nothing back. Accurately gauging your strength is to your benefit; whilst intentionally stunting yourself here will lower the difficulty of the first ten floors, you\'ll also grow far less facing weaker opponents, not to mention the mockery you\'ll receive from your peers once you get out. On that note, you may begin."

With that, another hourglass appeared, this one far fuller than the previous iteration. Wasting no time, Emma summoned Epitaph to her side as the first grains of sand fell, swinging a two-handed strike as hard as she could at the target dummy.

"Ow," She deadpanned, feeling a shock run up her arms as she pulled them back, seeing only the very slightest cut along the dummy\'s blackened surface.

"What are you made out of, bedrock?" Emma joked as her next swings hit home, now beginning to be imbued with Death Magic as she ramped up her blows, sliding into a steady rhythm.

The next five minutes were predictably monotonous, Emma having yet to develop any abilities for the situation beyond hitting as hard as possible, but then she\'d never been afraid of a bit of hard work. Despite knowing that the target dummy was likely reinforced by magic, Emma couldn\'t help being a bit miffed when her time ran out, and the best she had to show for her efforts was a narrow groove, barely wide enough to fit a single armored finger.

"Impressive, most novices don\'t leave so much as a scratch during calibration, whether by blade or spellcraft. Baseline enemy is set at Level 7. Now, before you reach the first floor proper, a final question for you. What is it you wish to develop within this tower? Are you looking to hone your mastery of the blade? Or perhaps looking to expand your horizons?"

[Choose one of the following, skill selection within Scholomance will prioritize your choice:

Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

Die by the Sword: Further synergies with sword-craft and close combat.

Take a Bow: Ranged optionality, mundane or otherwise.

Magical Mystery Tour: The path of the arcane, writ large.

Linked Horizon: No particular focus, a mixed bag of all the above.]

"Huh, it\'s been a while since I saw one of these." Emma remarked as time came to a stop, the System once again impressing the importance of the choice upon her, much like it had during her battle against Romulus.

"See, this might have been a much trickier choice if I were entirely on my own. But Mom\'s apparently already got magic, and Dad is an Invoker, which suggests the same. Even that aside, it\'s not like I can\'t do anything at a distance either, something that one soldier learned at his peril."

Nodding, Emma made her decision; doubling down was her preferred strategy in any given situation, and one that hadn\'t failed her yet.

[Die by the Sword selected!

Epitaph enhancements will now appear as options during level up.]

"Sticking to what you know? Some would call that cowardice; those fools usually die young, a jack of all trades and master of none. Very well, that concludes the calibration. Good luck, aspirant, and try not to die again."

Emma was expecting another teleport, but what actually happened proved far more mundane. The bookshelf in front of her fell backwards, becoming a makeshift bridge whilst simultaneously exposing a twisting pathway, winding its way along a much larger corridor than was previously apparent. The entire road ahead consisted of similar bookshelves, a branching road providing footing Emma knew to be treacherous at a glance. There were no guard rails either; on each side of the path there was only mist hiding an unknown drop, one she had no plans to ever experience. Glowing red orbs hovered close to the ceiling, bathing the entire floor in crimson; whilst at the very end of the winding corridor, the beginnings of a spiral staircase could be seen. As for the spaces between said stairs and herself? Hundreds of books rose in flight, clustered in eldritch formations as they awaited her challenge.

[Floor 1 has commenced.]

"Finally. Games these days have so much hand holding, what happened to just tossing someone into a room and hoping for the best?"

Smiling widely, Emma stalked out onto the fallen bookshelf, taking a moment to adjust her footing to favor the thin wooden rims over malleable paper. Then she rushed in to meet her foes, blade held high to do or die.

[Memoria - Level 7]

—

"What do you mean she went inside?" Noah groaned as he clenched his fist, a sharp stab of pain immediately reminding him why that was a bad idea. "Did you put her up to it?"

"We warned her it was a bad idea," Ryan rebutted immediately from his bedside. "Told her nobody who went inside ever came back. No dice though; I think she was gunning for the tower the moment she saw it, her first question was whether we were using it as a base. Maybe she knows something we don\'t?"

"I need to see for myself-" Noah began, before the medic on duty jabbed him with another dose of morphine, his other hand tightening the straps binding Noah to his hospital bed.

"What you need to do is rest up and heal," The medic chided. "A man with a dead arm will do no good in the field, so lie down and relax, medic\'s orders. Besides, you\'re a VIP now. If you get hurt doing something stupid, it\'s all our heads on the chopping block, you know?"

Noah groaned again, trying to break the bindings to no avail.

"Over a decade out of the forces and still allergic to medical treatment," The medic sighed. "Why are you meatheads all the same? Don\'t make me break out the tranquilizers!"

That threat seemed to do the trick, as Noah finally sank into his bed for a proper night\'s rest.