"My head hurts." Don opened his eyes and found himself back in the white dimension. He looked around, but this time The Source was not visible. "Source, are you here? And why are we in this place?"
[Yes, I am here, and we are here because you are weak right now. Your physical body is being rebuilt to withstand the Immortality skill. Every atom, cell, and element in your body is being reconstructed to handle the skill. Your body and your house are currently surrounded by an energy cocoon, so don't worry, nothing will happen to you. You are here for Me to complete your choice. I don't want you passing out after every selection. You truly haven't bothered to train yourself.]
Don's face flushed with shame, then flared up in anger when he heard The Source's sarcasm. He said defensively, "I am not weak! I can swing a metal sword for hours and only break a sweat! I didn't have the energy to be like the castle swordsmen with their strange auras, or like the sorcerers, focusing on learning. I wasn't even like the rest of the townsfolk; everyone uses magic—children use it, mothers use wind magic to clean floors, workers use earth magic to build houses, even merchants use sound magic to be heard by everyone! I possessed none of that! So stop your accursed talking, and let's finish choosing my skills!"
Don vented the anger that had been buried in his chest for a long time. He took a few breaths to calm himself, then asked, "Now, I want my second skill."
[As you wish. What kind of skill do you desire?]
"Learning and Adaptation. That is what I want."
The Source did not reply to Don for a few minutes. Don felt like hours had passed and began to grow nervous, thinking to himself: Is it impossible to ask for a two-word skill? Or does such a thing not exist?
Then The Source's voice came:
[As you wish. The skill Learning and Adaptation. Skill synthesis in progress... Integrating #&#&#... 80% of energy drained... Skill formation complete.]
Learning and Adaptation: You are the master of all knowledge and crafts. Anything you begin to learn or practice will eventually become yours. Furthermore, any absorption of a source of existence allows you to take its attributes, abilities, and existence. But beware of Madness. You can take everything, but if Madness controls you in the end, it will take your life.
Don took a moment to breathe. He hadn't expected this. He only wanted to compensate for the lost time between himself and others his age. He wanted to read and learn faster, but this was something else entirely. And absorbing sources from others? Isn't that forbidden and usually fatal? And what is this Madness?
"O Source, explain Madness and Sources to me."
[Madness is the contamination percentage of your mind, soul, and body. Usually, absorbing Sources is forbidden, but your first skill and the talent of the Child of Luck made it acceptable, provided you do not become Mad. Sources are anything—they could be the gems of monsters, their hearts, or even their flesh. Anything connected to energy is a secondary source for it.]
"Okay, okay. So I can learn anything. What is the speed at which I learn, and what are my limits?" Don spoke quickly, wanting to know everything. He was still a twelve-year-old boy, and excitement was overwhelming him.
But his physical body was no longer a child's body. He was now taller, and his muscles were sculpted as if they were a painting. He was 1.9 meters tall, and his red hair now reached his shoulder. If you looked closely at his hair, you would find a very few strands of silver. This was Don's Immortal body.
Returning to Don, he asked The Source, "Will all the level information appear once I have all three skills?"
The Source replied:
[Yes, when you choose your last skill, the three skills will be synthesized to support one another.]
He quickly asked, "Can I prevent Madness or prevent visiting the so-called Underworld?"
The Source replied in annoyance:
[Nothing is free, boy. Don't forget, everything has a price.]
Don accepted the situation, then thought about what he wanted for his third skill. Don's wish in life was simple: he wanted to feel important. He wanted others to make him feel that way, and he wanted to feel it himself. But all he ever received was nothing—no hate, no love, nothing.
He thought of a conversation with the old man. He was seven years old, playing with his friends. Before his eyes, he saw adults quarreling and hitting each other. Then one pulled out a knife and stabbed the other. Everyone began to run, except Don. He watched the knife sink into the flesh, the sound of the scream, the drops of blood falling onto the mud, the look of fear on the face of the man who had done it, and the look on the face of the uncle who fell to the ground. His eyes were beautiful, full of life one second, and the next, all life vanished from them.
Don, however, had a wide, ear-to-ear smile plastered on his face. He was happy with what he saw; it was like watching a work of art. He didn't know when, but Alfred was standing next to him, looking at him with a strange expression that Don didn't understand even to this day. Then he asked the old man, "Father, why am I happy about the uncle's death? Is something wrong with me?" Alfred laughed and replied, "Which uncle?"
Don looked ahead and found nothing—no blood, no corpse. Everyone was moving, even his friends were playing and calling to him.
"Hey, Don! Why did you stop suddenly?" Then they saw Alfred, and all of them greeted him. "Uncle Alfred! How are you? I wish you a good morning!"
Alfred smiled at them, then looked at Don and told him, "This was all your imagination, my son. There is nothing wrong with you. It is only your imagination."
In the present time, Don remembered this incident and said to The Source, "My third skill. I want Imagination as my last skill."
The Source replied, with a joyful tone in its voice:
[As you wish.]