Rimelion: The Exploiter

16. Dirty old man

I ducked into an alley next to the shopping area and slipped into my new gear. The robe was a simple white cloth with red trim, leaving my shoulders bare and highlighting, well, a lot of skin—cleavage and thighs, mostly. Great. The tiara was plain, a simple band of wreaths without any embellishments, which was fine by me.

Finally dressed like someone who didn't just roll out of the gutter, I strolled through Village Number Four, feeling a touch more confident, and asked an elven guard for directions to the Priest mentor.

"Mentor?" she echoed, her high-pitched voice ringing down the entire street. "I know! Go straight, then left by the big general store, and left again."

Cringing under the sudden interest of passersby, I tried to make my escape from her, but not before noticing her armor. Somehow, it was even more impractical than mine. Her chest practically bursting out. How would that even block an attack in, well, reality... or whatever this simulation was? With a silent curse at the developers—and the questionable taste of the game's AI—I hurried away, finding the building at last.

The old elf greeted me warmly, "Welcome, young Priestess." His white, full-body robe seemed ordinary, but his gaze wasn't. When he looked at me, I felt stripped bare, as if his eyes saw straight through me. Ah, the scanning spell—one of the few advantages NPC trainers had over players. I wondered if the real-world simulation had something similar.

The room smelled thickly of cinnamon, like a bakery rather than an ancient training hall. "Hello. I'm here to learn advanced skills, if possible," I said, trying to keep my tone steady. My hesitant steps betrayed my nerves, though. Stupid body—why could I talk to him easily but get tongue-tied around Lisa?

"Let's get on with it then—three basic skills—"

"I can't learn that many right now. I already have five, and I don't want to give any up," I interrupted, apologetic. He looked at me with newfound interest, his old, discolored teeth showing as he smiled. His tongue flicked out, coated in saliva, and I had to suppress a shudder as his intense gaze roamed from my head to my feet. I instinctively took a step back, wondering if even Boris would find him creepy.

"Show me your skills, then. I'll judge if you're worthy!" he said, licking his lips in a way that made me cringe.

"Old man, I decide my destiny! These skills are mine, and you can't take them from me!" I retorted, agitated at the thought of losing my heroic abilities. He just snorted back. Right. I attempted to show him Ice Dance, visualizing the runes, but of course, I fumbled the spell. Not my finest moment.

Without a word, he waved a hand, conjuring a blue haze that enveloped us. "Judging by the build-up of energy, these aren't common skills. Focus and do it properly," he instructed, his tone insistent.

I tried again, concentrating on each movement with precision, but the Ice Dance still wasn't coming together. Before I could try once more, he creeped closer, reached out and gripped my hands firmly, guiding them. I froze, tempted to yank my hands away and smack him, but his grip was surprisingly strong.

"Young Priestess, you're too reckless in your runecraft. Magic is about precision, not speed. A failed spell is useless. Even if it takes time, don't rush." Ugh. I knew that, but finesse was never my strong suit.

The reality was frustrating—my casting speed was lagging behind others. I wanted to scream at him my favorite profane words, but my experience taught me otherwise. Mentors were usually wise, and their experience was boundless. Yes, I could beat a warrior mentor, but this old pervert? He knew more about magic than me.

Ugh! Fine!

Begrudgingly, I let him circle behind me, his damp robe sticking to my skin as he guided my hands, feeling the unfamiliar, calm tug of mana as he directed my movements. For the first time, the runes filled with energy smoothly, without the usual resistance. Whatever he did, it surprised me. I hadn't achieved that, ever.