It was a circular depression dug ten feet into the earth, ringed by heavy iron bars and reinforced with mana-dampening stone to keep stray fireballs from hitting the spectators. The floor was packed sand, stained dark in places where the cleaning crews hadn’t quite scrubbed hard enough.
Gideon stood in the center, adjusting his burlap tunic. He felt small.
High above, in the observation box, Guild Master Corin and Lyra looked down like Roman emperors deciding whether to give the thumbs up or release the lions. Elara stood in the shadows behind them, leaning against a pillar with her arms crossed, her expression unreadable.
"Candidate Gideon Vance," Corin’s voice boomed, amplified by a wind-enchantment. "Lyra tells me you passed the Written Assessment."
"I corrected the fundamental errors in your curriculum!" Gideon shouted back, shielding his eyes against the sun. "Fire does not come from 'Passion'! It is an exothermic reaction!"
"She said you spelled all the big words correctly," Corin ignored him, his voice dry. "For Rank E, that is the only requirement. Congratulations, you are literate. Now, let's see if you are durable."
"Durability is a function of material density," Gideon muttered to himself. "Which, currently, is mostly burlap and optimism."
"The rules are simple," Corin continued. "Defeat the construct, or survive for five minutes without dying. Healing is available, but limb reattachment costs extra."
Gideon looked at the massive iron gate at the far end of the pit. He drew his weapon.
The Bent Sword scraped against the rope belt and came free. It looked pathetic in the bright daylight. The blade was rusted, chipped, and crooked, looking more like a jagged piece of industrial waste than a weapon of war.
A few novice adventurers watching from the railing laughed.
"Look at that thing," a young noble in silk armor sneered. "Is he going to fight the monster or give it tetanus?"
"He’s going to die," his companion laughed. "Five silvers says he runs in thirty seconds."
Gideon ignored them. He checked his status.
[ HP: 550 / 550 ] [ MP: 800 / 800 ]
"Efficiency is key," he muttered to himself. "Conservation of energy. Don't engage until the vector is calculated."
CLANG.
The iron gate began to rise. Chains rattled. Dust fell from the archway.
From the darkness of the tunnel, heavy, rhythmic footsteps shook the ground. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Gideon braced himself, expecting a boar. Or a wolf. Or maybe a bear.
What stepped out was none of those things.
It was a Wood-Iron Golem.
It stood eight feet tall, a hulking humanoid shape constructed from enchanted oak logs bound together with heavy iron bands. Its "head" was a solid block of ironwood with two glowing green mana-gems for eyes. Its arms were tree trunks reinforced with steel spikes.
“That is not a boar," Gideon whispered, his grip tightening on the bent sword. "That is a siege engine. That is a walking tree with anger issues."
The Golem stepped fully into the light. It turned its blocky head, the green eyes locking onto Gideon. It didn't roar. It didn't hiss. It just made the terrifying, creaking sound of a ship breaking apart in a storm.
"Begin!" Corin shouted.
The Golem moved.
For something made of wood and iron, it was alarmingly fast. It charged, closing the distance in three massive strides, raising a fist the size of an anvil.
" Fast... Heavy..," Gideon calculated instantly, his brain dropping into the flow state. " That is way too much momentum for a tree."
He stopped calculating and started moving.
"Too much!"
Gideon dived to the left just as the fist slammed into the sand where he had been standing.
BOOM.
The impact shook the arena floor. Sand exploded outward like a grenade had gone off. Gideon rolled, coming up to his knees, coughing in the dust cloud.
"Okay," Gideon wheezed, scrambling back as the Golem turned, its wooden joints groaning. "Force equals mass times acceleration. And that thing has way too much of both."
The Golem raised its other hand—a backhand sweep aimed to clear the annoying little human off the board
Gideon raised his bent sword.
"Parry logic," Gideon gasped. "Deflect the vector! Use the angle!"
He angled the sword, trying to let the blow slide off the steel.
The wooden arm hit the sword.
It wasn't a parry. It was a car crash.
Gideon was lifted off his feet. He flew ten feet through the air and slammed into the arena wall, sliding down into a heap of burlap and bruised ribs.
[ HP: 480 / 550 ]
"Ow," Gideon groaned, staring up at the blue sky. "Note to self: Physics doesn't matter when the opposing force is a literal tree."
The crowd cheered. The Golem began to stomp toward him, raising its foot for a finishing crush.
Gideon looked at his bent sword. It was vibrating from the impact.
"Physics," Gideon hissed, forcing himself up. "Physics always wins. I just need a bigger lever."
Like a machine running a subroutine, it pulled its massive wooden fist out of the sand, straightened its spine with a groan of twisting oak, and swiveled its head toward Gideon. The green mana-gems serving as its eyes pulsed, locking onto his heat signature.
Gideon scrambled to his feet, his back against the cold stone of the arena wall. His ribs throbbed—a dull, deep ache that told him his 55 Constitution was the only reason his chest hadn't collapsed like a wet cardboard box.
[ HP: 480 / 550 ]
"Okay," Gideon wheezed, gripping the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white. "It hits hard. Force distribution is roughly equivalent to a small truck moving at thirty miles per hour. Avoid the truck. Hit the driver."
He pushed off the wall.
"You want a fight?" Gideon yelled, trying to draw aggro away from the fact that he was currently trembling. "Come on! I have fifty points of Strength and very little common sense!"
The Golem obliged. It lumbered forward, gathering speed.
Gideon didn't wait for it to reach him. He charged.
It was a gamble. A stupid one. But he needed to test the armor integrity. He needed data.
He closed the distance in three seconds, his agility allowing him to move faster than the lumbering construct expected. He slid under a wide, sweeping backhand.
He popped up right in the Golem's guard.
"Strike one!" Gideon grunted.
He swung the Bent Sword two-handed, putting his entire hip rotation into the blow. He aimed for the Golem’s "stomach"—a mass of bound oak logs reinforced with iron bands.
CLANG.
The sound was hideous. It wasn't the crunch of wood; it was the high-pitched ring of metal failing against a superior surface.
The bent sword bounced. The vibration traveled up Gideon’s arms, rattling his skeleton like a bag of loose dice. He nearly dropped the weapon.
The Golem didn't even flinch. A small, shallow notch appeared in the wood.
"Zero damage?" Gideon gasped, stumbling back as the Golem raised a knee to crush him. "I have fifty strength! I should be punching holes in concrete!"
He managed to twist away, the wooden knee grazing his thigh.
[ HP: 460 / 550 ]
He rolled across the sand, coming up ten feet away.
Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.
"It’s not the force," Elara’s voice drifted down from the observation deck, calm and cutting. "It’s the tool, Gideon. You’re hitting a rock with a spoon."
"It’s a sword!" Gideon shouted back, frustrated. "It has an edge!"
"It has a suggestion of an edge," Corin corrected from the balcony, looking bored. "And that Golem has Iron-Bark Plating. Level 15 defense rating. You can't cut it, boy. You have to break it."
Gideon looked at the Golem. It was turning again, slow and inevitable.
"Break it," Gideon muttered. "Right. Just hit it harder."
He checked his Mana. [ MP: 800 / 800 ]. He hadn't used a single point yet.
"Okay," Gideon hissed. "Let's try the Paladin approach. Magic smash."
He raised the sword. The text of his new skill flashed in his mind.
[ SKILL: SMITE ] Description: Channels divine energy into a melee strike for massive damage.
"System," Gideon commanded. "Initiate Smite. Maximum output."
His hands began to glow. The cyan light of his Aasimar heritage flooded into the rusty iron of the blade. The bent sword hummed, vibrating with a power it was never designed to hold. The rust seemed to burn away under the intensity of the light.
"Eat this!" Gideon roared.
He lunged again.
The Golem swung a fist. Gideon ducked, weaving inside the reach, and thrust the glowing sword directly at the Golem’s chest.
BOOM.
The impact was spectacular. A flash of blinding white light exploded in the arena, throwing up a cloud of dust and sand. The crowd gasped. Even Corin leaned forward.
But when the dust settled, the Golem was still standing.
The wood on its chest was scorched black. A deep crack had appeared in the central log. Smoke curled from the impact site.
But the Golem wasn't disabled. It looked down at the burn mark, then looked at Gideon.
It raised both fists high above its head, preparing for a double-handed smash that would flatten him into a paste.
"It survived a directed energy discharge?" Gideon whispered, horrified. "That was concentrated photons! That was a laser!"
"It's a construct!" Lyra called out, sounding like a teacher correcting a slow student. "It doesn't feel pain! You have to destroy the structural integrity!"
The fists came down.
"Shield!"
[ Radiant Lattice Shield: Dome Mode ]
Gideon threw his hands up. The golden hexagon snapped into existence above his head just as the wooden hammers slammed down.
CRACK.
The ground shook. The shield buckled, the hexagonal lattice turning a deep, angry orange as it absorbed the kinetic energy.
[ MP: 620 / 800 ]
Gideon’s knees hit the sand. He was holding up the weight of a falling building.
"Too heavy," he wheezed, sweat pouring down his face. "Cannot sustain... static load."
The Golem pounded on the shield again. THUD.
[ MP: 550 / 800 ]
And again. THUD.
[ MP: 480 / 800 ]
Gideon was trapped. He was in a cage of his own making, crouched in the sand while a monster tried to hammer him into the earth like a nail. The crowd was laughing now. They saw a "Paladin" turtling, afraid to fight.
"He's got good mana," he heard Corin say above the noise. "But he fights like a coward. He’s waiting for it to get tired. Golems don't get tired."
"I am not... a coward," Gideon gritted out, staring up at the fracturing golden light of his shield. "I am... analyzing."
He looked at the Golem through the transparent lattice.
He watched the way it moved. It wasn't fluid. It was mechanical.
When it raised its arm, a heavy iron pin in the shoulder joint rotated. When it slammed down, the force was transferred through a central pivot in the elbow.
It wasn't a monster. It was a machine.
And machines had tolerances.
"It’s not about force," Gideon realized, his eyes narrowing as the shield took another massive hit. "I'm trying to break the wood. That’s inefficient. The wood is the armor."
He looked at the joints. The iron pins were rusted. They were old.
"The pins," Gideon whispered. "The axis of rotation. If I remove the fulcrum... the lever fails."
He checked his Mana. [ 420 / 800 ].
"Drop shield," Gideon commanded.
The golden dome vanished.
The Golem, expecting resistance, overcommitted. Its fists slammed into the empty sand where the shield had been.
Gideon rolled to the side, sand gritting in his teeth. He scrambled up, putting distance between him and the machine.
He looked at the Bent Sword in his hand. It was smoking from the last Smite. It looked ready to snap.
"I don't need to cut the tree. I just need to loosen the screws.” Gideon said.
The Golem recovered from its missed strike, tearing its massive fists out of the sand with a spray of grit. It swiveled its torso, the heavy iron bands creaking like a ship in a storm.
Gideon didn't retreat this time. He stood his ground, watching the machine move.
He wasn't looking at the fists anymore. He was looking at the pivot points.
"It’s a kinetic linkage," Gideon muttered, his eyes tracking the rusted iron bolt that served as the Golem's elbow joint. "Wood doesn't rotate. Metal rotates. That pin is taking the entire load of the lever arm."
The Golem raised its right arm for a backhand swipe.
"And it's rusted," Gideon noted, a sharp smile cutting across his face. "Oxidation increases friction. It also makes the metal brittle. It doesn't need to be cut. It needs to be shocked."
He gripped the Bent Sword with both hands.
"System," Gideon commanded. "Charge [Smite]. No fancy shaping. Just raw, explosive output."
His hands glowed. The cyan light poured into the iron blade, causing it to hum violently. The air around the weapon distorted, superheated by the contained energy.
The Golem swung.
It was a clumsy, horizontal clearing strike, designed to sweep the annoying little human into the wall.
Gideon moved.
He didn't dodge away; he stepped in.
Using his agility he dropped into a slide, going under the massive wooden forearm. As the limb passed over him, he saw it—the exposed head of the iron hinge pin, glowing faintly with the Golem's internal mana.
"Percussive maintenance!" Gideon roared.
He swung the Bent Sword.
He didn't aim for the wood. He aimed for the head of the bolt.
He hit it with the flat of the blade, using the bent angle of the iron like a hammer.
[ SKILL ACTIVATED: SMITE ]
CRACK-BOOM.
The impact was deafening. The stored divine energy didn't slice; it detonated on contact.
It was like setting off a stick of dynamite directly on the joint.
The force of the explosion transferred instantly into the rusted iron pin. The rust shattered in a cloud of orange dust. The metal screamed.
And then, with a sound like a gunshot, the pin popped.
It shot out the other side of the elbow joint, flying across the arena to embed itself in the stone wall with a spark of friction.
The Golem’s forearm, suddenly disconnected from the upper arm, obeyed the laws of gravity. It flopped uselessly to the sand, severed not by a blade, but by physics.
The Golem froze. It looked at its stump. It looked at the arm lying in the dirt. It looked at Gideon.
The crowd in the stands went dead silent.
"What..." Lyra whispered, leaning over the railing. "Did he just... unbolt it?"
Gideon scrambled back, shaking his stinging hands. The recoil of the Smite had nearly dislocated his shoulders, but the satisfaction was worth it.
"Shear stress!" Gideon yelled at the Golem, pointing his smoking sword at the confused construct. "The bolt couldn't handle the lateral force! You are structurally unsound!"
The Golem roared—a grinding sound of wood-on-wood. It raised its remaining left arm, enraged.
"Oh, you want to try the left side?" Gideon grinned, the adrenaline flooding his system. "I can disassemble that one too! Come on! I haven't even touched the knee joints yet!"
He raised his sword, the cyan light flaring again.
"Come get your audit!"
High above in the observation box, Guild Master Corin didn't just lean forward; he gripped the stone railing hard enough to crack the mortar. His veteran eyes, usually clouded with boredom during E-Rank trials, were wide and unblinking. He knew what a magic missile looked like. He knew what a generic force-amplification spell looked like. But that flash of cyan light, the specific harmonic hum of divine energy condensing into a physical impact—that was [Smite].
"That’s impossible," Corin muttered, his voice rough. "Smite is a Paladin-exclusive skill. It’s locked behind a Class. You don't just pick it up at Rank E." He looked at Lyra, who was furiously scribbling notes. "The boy isn't a Battle-Mage, Lyra."
The Golem didn't care that it was missing an arm. It didn't care about structural integrity or voided warranties. It only cared about the "Kill" command running in its mana-core.
It roared—a sound like a falling tree—and charged.
It was unbalanced now, listing heavily to the right where the arm used to be, but that only made it more dangerous. It wasn't fighting with technique anymore; it was thrashing.
"Center of gravity shifted," Gideon analyzed, his eyes tracking the lurching gait. "The missing mass on the right side is causing a compensatory stride on the left. It’s putting extra load on the left knee."
He gripped the Bent Sword. The blade was smoking, the iron glowing a dull, angry red from the previous Smite.
"One more," Gideon whispered. "One more bolt."
The Golem swung its remaining fist—a low, sweeping haymaker designed to clear the legs.
Gideon didn't jump. He slid.
He threw himself into a baseball slide, the sand tearing at his burlap trousers. He went under the swing, the wind of the wooden fist ruffling his hair.
He skidded to a stop right next to the Golem’s left leg.
It was a massive pillar of oak, bound in iron. And there, right at the knee joint, was the hinge pin. It was thick, rusted, and currently bearing the entire weight of the charging construct.
"System!" Gideon screamed, thrusting the sword upward. "[Smite]! Full yield!"
His hands flashed cyan. The sword hummed, the air distorting around the impact point.
He didn't swing this time. He used the sword like a chisel. He jammed the tip of the bent blade against the head of the bolt and poured the energy in.
BOOM.
The sound was less like a gunshot and more like a crack of thunder.
The bolt didn't just pop out; it disintegrated. The sheer pressure of the Golem’s weight combined with the explosive force of the Smite sheared the metal instantly.
The knee joint failed.
The Golem’s leg buckled sideways.
The massive construct tipped. It tried to catch itself, but its right arm was gone. There was nothing to stop the fall.
CRASH.
The Golem hit the arena floor face-first. The impact shook the ground hard enough to knock Gideon off his feet. Dust billowed up in a choking cloud.
The crowd gasped.
Gideon scrambled up, coughing. He looked at the fallen giant.
It was trying to rise. The green eyes in the blocky head were flickering, but still angry. It pushed against the sand with its one remaining arm, its legs thrashing uselessly behind it.
"Stay down!" Gideon yelled, scrambling onto the Golem’s back.
He felt like he was climbing a fallen tree during an earthquake. He pulled himself up to the neck joint.
The Golem thrashed, trying to shake him off, but Gideon locked his legs around the torso.
He raised the Bent Sword. The blade was ruined. The last Smite had warped the iron even further, twisting it into a useless corkscrew of slag.
"I can't cut the head off," Gideon realized, looking at the thick ironwood neck. "I don't have the edge."
He looked at the back of the Golem’s head. There was a small, iron access panel. A maintenance hatch? Or just a junction box for the mana crystals?
"Engineering," Gideon hissed. "Everything has an off switch."
He jammed the point of his ruined sword into the gap of the panel. He used his new found strength.
"Open!"
He heaved. The metal groaned. The rivets popped.
The panel tore free, spinning away into the dust.
Beneath it, glowing with a soft, pulsing green light, was the Mana Core. It was a crystal sphere roughly the size of a grapefruit, suspended in a web of copper wire.
The Golem froze. It sensed the exposure. It stopped thrashing, its single arm reaching back desperately to protect its heart.
Gideon didn't smash it.
He reached in with his bare hand. The mana buzzed against his skin, making his teeth ache.
"System," Gideon whispered, his hand hovering over the crystal. "Override."
He grabbed the core.
He didn't crush it. He simply... disconnected it.
He pulled the crystal out of the copper web.
Zzzzt.
The green light in the Golem’s eyes died instantly. The massive wooden body went limp, collapsing into the sand with a final, settling groan.
Silence descended on the arena.
Gideon sat on the back of the "dead" machine, holding the glowing green sphere in his hand. He was covered in sweat, dust, and rust. His burlap tunic was torn. His sword was a piece of scrap metal.
But he was alive.
He looked up at the observation box. He saw Corin gripping the railing. He saw Lyra with her mouth open.
And he saw Elara, standing in the shadows, offering him a slow, singular nod.
Gideon raised the green crystal high, the sunlight catching the facets.
"Disassembly complete!" Gideon shouted, his voice cracking slightly. "I believe this unit is ready for recycling!"
"Winner!" Corin’s voice boomed over the magical amplifier, though he sounded more stunned than triumphant. "Gideon Vance! Rank E... confirmed!"
The crowd erupted—not with the polite applause of a trial, but with the confused, raucous cheering of people who had just watched a man dismantle a siege engine with a piece of junk.
Gideon slumped forward, resting his forehead against the cold wood of the Golem.
"Physics," he whispered to the deactivated machine. "It’s a harsh mistress."
[ AUTHOR NOTE: THE SUPPORT PROTOCOL ]
The Infinite Index, don't donate. Equip yourself.
Statbook RPG—the real-world version of Gideon’s interface. It turns your daily grind into XP, stats, and level-ups.
-
Buy the tool.
-
Optimize your own build.
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