I am in the hallway between the slime-in-a-chest trial and the next, sitting down and leaning against the delightfully cold wall. Its welcome touch is sapping away my fatigue. My shell supply is also gradually growing, the fully enhanced bodies taking shape.

"You okay, Challenger?" the Announcer asks after a period of long silence.

I sigh out, "Better than ever."

"You sure? I haven't seen you drink any water since you came in. If it's one thing I am absolutely confident in knowing about challengers, it's that they need to drink water. And there was something else but I forget. Probably not that important if I forgot it."

"Not all challengers need water."

The Announcer makes a popping sound with its mouth, probably thinking something over. "Are you one of those people that never drink water?" It then gasps in shock, like someone else said the words and it just learned the horrible news. "Do you have any idea how bad that is for you?"

"No it's not. And I'm not one of those people. I enjoy water as much as anyone else."

"Really? I can get you some."

"I'm fine, thank you."

A glass of water materializes next to me. "Drink up, then," the Announcer announces its challenge.

I shrug and empty the glass in my mouth. Perfectly chilled. "See?"

"Huh. Good for you, Challenger. Always remember to hydrate! Want some copper?"

"Not right now. But you could give me my spellcasting back."

"Done."

My boiling river of mana finds its outlet open. Small arcs of electricity jump out of my body, scorching the seemingly invulnerable bricks. Slowly, I let my mana settle back down, the rush of power making me reluctant to rush.

After around thirty minutes of resting, during which the Announcer and I somehow find ourselves on the topic of asteroid mining, I stand up, ready to face whatever awaits me next.

When the portcullis stops its grinding ascent, the Announces shouts out, "Trial five! Draw your favorite thing. Best one wins."

An assortment of art supplies plonks down in the middle of the room. Three rainbow-colored slimes bounce in too. The trio jiggles over to the pile of canvases, paper, paints, brushes, and other similar implements. Each slime grabs its selected kit and rolls away to a corner, starting to furiously draw.

"I'm also participating," the Announcer says. "You'll see my piece at the end. Don't worry."

"Can I get another battle trial?"

"No can do. Do you know how hard it is to change the schedule? Just draw something. This is a judgement-free zone."

"Didn't you change the 'schedule' to add this trial?"

"Pff, no." Terrible acting. "Schedule was set months back. Months!" Voice crack.

I shake my head, more to myself, and approach the pile hesitantly. It's not like I can't perfectly reproduce whatever image I want. But that's not drawing. There's no interpretation, no creation. I might as well be a printer. Just the thought of such an accursed existence makes a shudder run through me. How dreadful.

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With a real grumble, I dig into the mess of unbranded artistic stationery. Paper. Pencil. Sharpener.

Taking the one free corner, I place the paper on the smooth stone floor and make myself as comfortable as I can get on the ground. What do I even draw? Can I actually lose the trial? Is this all manipulation by the Announcer? Well, guess we'll see.

My hand moves robotically, tracing a flawless reproduction of Harthes from afar, capturing the whole city and the scenery around it.

The Announcer makes a sound. I am pretty sure it's offended. "Judgement-free zone rescinded." Then it chuckles. "No, no. Just joking. But yeah, that's trash." One of the rainbow-colored slimes stretches up and to attention. With a speedy zoom, it shoots for me. When it passes over my sketch, it sucks in the paper, disintegrating it inside its body, and returning back to its masterpiece-in-progress. A new sheet of white stock flutters over to me. "Try again."

I start sharpening my pencil, using the time to think. Whatever... It's a dungeon. Nothing to be embarrassed about. No one's going to see it, anyway.

An unsteady hand draws a wonky line. The Announcer hums approvingly. I grumble and flick my arm. An eraser zips over. I rub the paper with a bit too much force, creasing it. Beginning to feel quite annoyed, I let out a long sigh.

Okay. Get the rough shape. Gradually add details. Shade. Finishing touches. And... I crumple the paper with malicious satisfaction and chuck it at one of the slimes. Upon impact, my failure is absorbed and erased forever. This is harder than I thought.

A thick bundle of paper slides over to me. I pick up the top sheet and repeat the process. Maybe slime number two is also hungry? The stack is quickly depleted, my hand going faster and faster, finding the rhythm. I hold up my latest creation. As I stare at it emotionlessly, the paper is consumed by a bright flame, illuminating my face in a sinister light.

Let's take a break... Is what I would say if I was a quitter. "More paper, Announcer." A towering stack thunks next to me, wobbling precariously due to its height. "...Good to see your confidence in me is unbreakable." The Announcer fakes a cough, refusing to pipe up.

I demolish the stack with even more speed, my hand blurring along the white surface, reducing a forest of pencils into nothing but tiny stumps. The slimes are starting to dodge my many rejects, apparently already feeling full.

My hand grabs a piece of paper. My fingers brush against the gentle grain of the sheet, like they are brushing against... I draw what I feel every single day.

When I'm finished, the Announcer asks with trepidation, "Is that her?" I affirm. "Pretty good for a novice. I'm impressed." I store the drawing away. "Hey! I wasn't done looking," it pouts.

"Who wins?"

The three slimes bring over their canvases, showing them off proudly. At least that's how they look to me. One has drawn a self-portrait, the vibrant colors of its form captured with watercolors as if the paint is alive, moved by lingering magic. Two has drawn a landscape with oils, closely resembling the location of the gate during spring. And summer, and fall, and winter, the seasons gradually cycling. Three's piece is... abstract. Splattered acrylics. Hidden shapes magically overlap and merge into new ones, then break up into more again. Quite confounding if you stare too long. Still immensely pleasing to look at, though.

Another canvas appears, suspended in the air. Presumably, the Announcer's entry. Harsh blacks and whites clashing against each other. Sharp and jagged, overpowering. Pure unfiltered chaos. A scream in pastel.

I offer my impression, "Very avant-garde."

The Announcer makes an uncertain sound. "I was going for meta-suprematism, but I'll take that as a compliment."

"So, who wins?"

The Announcer takes a dramatic pause. Then it excitedly says, "Everyone wins!" The three rainbow slimes start bouncing up and down. "'Cuz they are all the best. Isn't drawing the best!"

"Sure."

"Come on, admit it. You had fun."

"Maybe."

The Announcer giggles victoriously. "Show me your drawing again."

"No."

"Aww. Please?"

I ignore the pitiful pleading and walk over to the portcullis. The barrier refuses to open. My foot starts tapping impatiently against the stone floor. A full minute passes in this impasse we've found ourselves in. My trial entry is taken out and presented at a random direction.

The Announcer chuckles happily. It then adopts a deep voice, trying to sound seasoned and gruff. "You've got talent, kid. Keep at it. I'll be waiting for you..." It pauses dramatically again. Eventually continuing with gravitas, "At the top."

As I head for the next trial, the artistic slimes energetically wave goodbye.

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