Old Tyler, with his swift movement, took Dante to a curious place: a small training field. In it there were countless training dummies, strange rings, and two small lakes — one seemed to be on the verge of freezing, while the other was so hot that, if the temperature rose by 0.1 degrees, the water would boil.
The field was divided into two sides. One of them, made of stone, was full of deadly obstacles, designed to be faced head-on.
The other side contained a kind of heavy sand that sank and hindered movement, almost like a quicksand death zone.
But the target was none of these. In the center, there was a strange machine, capable of receiving punches and measuring them with precision.
Standing at Dante's side, Tyler ordered him to strike it. Dante advanced slowly and, as he approached, threw a punch with all his strength.
Bam!
His fist collided with the receptor, producing a dry impact sound.
The machine, upon receiving the blow, began to change color. On a specific part that seemed to measure power and accuracy, a number appeared: 881, accompanied by the color purple.
Old Tyler looked with mild surprise before saying:
— Eight hundred and eighty-one, purple grade? Well, that's not too bad… about 10% to 20% stronger than an average adult.
He crossed his arms, assessing Dante.
— At your age, the normal would be somewhere between 560 and 600, at green or blue grade. So you're probably above average.
Then Tyler showed a proud expression, though soon his tone shifted to arrogance:
— Of course, it doesn't compare to my score of one thousand at fourteen years old, with a yellow grade. But it's enough, brat. Become my disciple, turn into a combatant… and one day you may become the next leader of the village.
Dante stared at him curiously before asking:
— What does this purple grade mean, and this number? Eight hundred and eighty-one? And why must I become a combatant to be the next leader?
— Let's go step by step, brat — Tyler replied calmly. — The color is the grade, divided into six: gray, green, blue, purple, yellow, and red. Each grade represents bodily efficiency in relation to mass, muscles, and age.
He pointed at the machine.
— The number, on the other hand, is your current strength, detailed in values. Yours is slightly superior to that of an average adult. This machine is used precisely to determine whether someone is fit to become a combatant.
Tyler paused before continuing:
— And the reason why the leader of the village is always a combatant is simple: the only inheritance we possess capable of reaching the second level is that of the combatant. Even if it's the most unpopular path due to its limitations, a level 2 being is vastly superior to a level 1. Even a level 1 mage with nine stars would not withstand a single punch. This power is vital for the village's survival.
Dante thought for a few seconds and then calmly asked another question:
— So it's impossible for a knight or a mage to reach level 2 without an inheritance?
Tyler sighed.
— No, it's not impossible. But it's extremely difficult. Even with a second-level inheritance, the chances of dying are enormous. Without inheritance… it's almost unfeasible. To put it in numbers: with inheritance, maybe one out of a hundred might succeed. Without it… one out of a thousand, or even ten thousand.
Finishing his explanation, the old man fell silent, giving Dante time to take it all in.
After a few moments of silence, the boy looked at him and said:
— Can I think about it?
— Of course… — Tyler replied with a faint smile.