Chương 104: Chapter 102

Humans? One day earlier… The past two weeks had been incredibly productive. Rel and I had continued to commit to our not-quite-itemless training regime, and we'd been ploughing through Tier Four and Five quests like we were farmers and it was harvest time. Just as the GEC employee had promised, each passing week saw more quest slots open up, while the cooldown before they were replaced continued to shrink. The timing couldn't have been better, either.

A few more Trialists had finally managed to scrape their way past the fifth-wave constructs, meaning we now had a little competition for the quests. As Rel and I were such magnanimous individuals, we stopped completing the one-star Tier Five quests so they'd be available for the newbies. Although they were technically eligible to attempt the two- and three-star quests, doing so would pretty much be suicidal. There was a significant jump in difficulty between the peak of Tier Four and the bottom of Tier Five.

We were not pieces of shit like Moranthor and Lokta'Inif, who were obsessed with hoarding power for themselves while denying everyone else the chance to grow stronger. So long as the Trialists didn't start behaving like dickheads, we had no problem with them and wanted to make sure they had plenty of opportunities to progress. Talking of progress… Current strength: 71 Current durability: 66 Current agility: 57 Current intelligence: 44 Expedition Centre Points: 4, 840 Gold: 17, 358, 185 There had been lots of that.

Sensei had been in a very good mood since his little 'date' with Auroria. I'd asked him whether he'd managed to solve the mystery of the tail. He'd reacted with mock outrage, clipped me around the ear, and insisted that "a gentleman never tells." He'd then reminded me about my homework – practising using my Aura against multiple opponents at the same time – before fading out of existence. He'd disappeared far more slowly than usual, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face the entire time. The asshole.

Still, I am, of course, a most diligent student, and Aura training was one of the areas I'd focused on most heavily over the past two weeks. Not only did it earn me a bunch of points in intelligence, but I also advanced to Rank 4 of the Journeyman tier. Aura Manipulation Journeyman Rank 4 One more and I'd unlock the next ability. Rel and I were incredibly eager to get back to questing. We'd decided that today was the day. The day that Peter Brookes and Squire Rel took on their very first three-star Tier Five quest.

We were planning to head back to the Quest Board to see what was available, but before we could do that, there was something very important that I had to do first... * I ran a hand nervously through my hair, pushing my fringe out of my eyes before attempting to flatten the sticky-out bits at the back. It was still in that awkward stage where it wasn't quite long enough to fully weigh itself down. I knocked on the door.

"Come in!" Tarathiel smiled at me politely as I entered. The guy looked very much like an elf from traditional fantasy. Tall and slender, with pale skin, flowing blonde hair, and ears that ended in delicate points. His shirt and trousers were simple in design but made from what looked like incredibly fine blue silk. The part of my brain that lacked boundaries told me I should reach out and touch it to see if it felt as smooth as it looked. I ignored the intrusive thoughts.

As I stood there a little awkwardly, he studied me with piercing yellow eyes, and I was relieved to see it was with professional interest rather than judgement.

"It's good to meet you, Peter," he said, stepping forward to clap me on the shoulder. It was a friendly gesture, and although he didn't put much force behind it, there was a weight to it that made me glad I hadn't randomly tried to stroke his clothes like some kind of weirdo. I reckon that, despite his slender build, the guy would pack one hell of a punch. I supposed it made sense that he'd be strong.

A specialist tasked with cutting the hair of high-durability Trialists would have to be something of a beast himself.

"You too, Tarathiel," I said.

"Honestly, I've been looking forward to this. I don't know if it's because I've been having so much fun since I got here, or because there's a bizarre lack of mirrors in the Trial Zone, but I've really neglected my personal grooming over the past eight months."

"So much fun?" He raised an eyebrow.

"That's a new one to me. The Trials are widely considered to be the most chaotic and brutal part of Galaxy Showdown. By this point, most Trialists whose hair I cut are either shell-shocked, evil bastards, or more than a little unhinged." If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

"Really? I've had a great time. Hanging out with my buddy, killing evil pieces of shit, starting a fashion revolution with peasant chic. What's not to love?" Tarathiel chuckled and clapped me on the shoulder again. It knocked me a step to the side.

"You're an interesting individual, Peter Brookes." He gestured for me to take a seat.

"So, what can I do for you today?" The setup was exactly what you'd expect to find in any hairdresser's on Earth. I settled into the chair, pleasantly surprised by how comfortable it was, and stared at my reflection in the mirror. Damn. Maybe I wasn't going to end up as a sasquatch-looking motherfucker. Maybe I was already there. My hair was thick and wild, almost reaching my shoulders. My beard was so long and scraggly that all I'd have to do was throw on a leather jacket and I'd blend right in with a biker gang.

It wasn't just my hair that was different, though. It was one thing studying my reflection in the shitty little mirror I'd bought for squint practice. It was another thing entirely to see myself in a full-sized, high-quality mirror. I had a deep tan, which made the pale lines of the scars so kindly given to me by the draeven more pronounced. I didn't look any older physically, but there was a certain... hardness to my face that hadn't been there before. It made sense, though.

I'd seen and done some pretty insane shit over the past eight months. I'd fought gods, demons, yetis, and golems. I'd been stabbed, slashed, bludgeoned, punched, kicked, electrocuted, immolated, laser-blasted, poisoned, and mind-fucked. It'd probably be more concerning if I hadn't changed a little. Tarathiel cleared his throat, and I realised I'd completely spaced out and hadn't answered his question. Apparently, Rel's Rejuvenating Touch had done nothing to improve my ADHD.

"Oh," I said, reaching up to push my fringe aside again.

"I'm not really sure. I'd just like to look somewhat presentable and not like I'm on my way to be a guest speaker at a hobo convention."

"Hmm… there are obviously a diverse range of species taking part in Galaxy Showdown, but I primarily specialise in cutting human hair, so if you're willing to trust me, I could find a look that complements your features."

"Absolutely. I'm sure you'd have a much better–" I frowned.

"Wait. Did you just say you specialise in cutting human hair?"

"I did…" I whirled around to face him, feeling a surprising mix of emotions. If he specialised in cutting human hair, and there was a two-week wait for an appointment, that must mean there were absolutely loads of other humans taking part in Galaxy Showdown. Maybe I wasn't the only person from Earth in the Trials! It was exciting that I might get to meet people in the same situation as me... but honestly, I'd quite liked being unique. It's not very often you get to be one of a kind.

He looked a little taken aback by the sudden intensity of my reaction, but then understanding dawned on his face.

"Ahh, I see," he said.

"I'm sorry if I raised your hopes. I have no idea if there is anyone else from your planet taking part in this year's Trials. I'll explain once we get started." He gestured for me to turn back to face the mirror, then reached into a pouch at his belt. A pair of scissors, larger than the pouch itself, appeared in his hands. They looked like normal scissors in terms of their shape and design, but they were clearly something special.

They were made from a pale golden metal, and runes were etched along the length of the blades, pulsing with an intense white light. He looked at me thoughtfully for a few moments, idly tapping the scissors against his palm. He moved to either side of the chair, studying my face from different angles and muttering under his breath the whole time.

"You've got good features, and we need to choose a style that shows them off," he said, as much to himself as to me.

"You possess a certain rugged handsomeness, and I think it's important that we emphasise that rather than take away from it. A haircut that makes you look too polished would not suit you at all." Rugged handsomeness? Let's fucking go.

"Hmm, let's see…" he said, waving a hand to make a screen appear beside the mirror. He made several more gestures, and the interface cycled through different menus. I almost fell out of my chair when an image appeared. It was of a human male and exactly the sort of photo you'd see in the window of a hairdresser's. Tarathiel chuckled at my reaction.

"GEC are very thorough when putting together their databases for eligible planets. I have access to images of thousands of different hairstyles from your world." The elf fell silent for a while, the images changing so quickly that they appeared as little more than a blur to me.

He seemed to have no trouble following along, and his reactions ranged from thoughtful hums to a snort that fell somewhere between amusement and disgust when an image of a '90s pop star with frosted tips and copious amounts of hair gel flashed across the screen.

"I have to say, Peter," he said finally, "your species is very… creative when it comes to style. Those images only covered a hundred-year period, and I wouldn't be surprised if there was more variety among them than some civilisations have produced over the entirety of their existence." Having apparently seen enough, he gestured away the screen and got to work. I felt a little apprehension when he gathered a section of my hair between his fingers, deciding how much of it was about to disappear.

He raised the scissors… and snipped. The runes flashed a little brighter as the blades closed, cutting through my hair as easily as if my durability were non-existent.

"I'm confused," I said.

"You mentioned that you specialised in cutting human hair, but when you looked through those photos from my planet, you acted like it was the first time you'd ever seen them."

"Indeed." He worked quickly, but he wasn't rushing. It was the confidence and skill of an absolute master at work. If I ever got to the point where I could kill monsters with such precision and efficiency, I'd be a very happy man.

"It's a little quirk of the GEC Universal Translator. There isn't a word in your language that perfectly encapsulates what I'm trying to convey, so it chooses the closest possible option. When I say the word 'human', I'm not referring specifically to the inhabitants of your planet. It's more of an overarching term for all the species in the galaxy that share the same basic anatomy. Take the two of us, for example. We'd both be classed as 'human', despite the fact there are some minor physical differences."

He paused to tap his pointed ears to emphasise his point.

"But in general, our physical characteristics are incredibly similar. We both have skin rather than scales, metal, or stone. We both have a head, a torso, two arms, two legs, and hands and feet." That made so much sense. I'd found it strange that we'd encountered so many people who looked so much like humans from Earth. Take Kaelis, for example. If you ignored the fact that his skin was light blue, he wouldn't have looked out of place on Earth at all.

"So, when I say I specialise in cutting 'human' hair, I mean the hair of all the species the translator places within that category. The hairstyles may differ wildly from one species to another, but the hair itself is remarkably similar. Then there are species that would be classed as human-adjacent. I'd refer to those as humanoid."

"That word translates," I said.

"I've come across plenty of people I'd describe as humanoid. They've got the same general build as me, but with things like stone skin or extra arms." We fell silent after that, and Tarathiel did his thing. The guy was a fucking magician with a pair of scissors. I watched transfixed as he worked, each snip bringing me closer and closer to something resembling a functional member of society. He cut my hair shorter on the back and sides but left the top a little longer.

He blended it so seamlessly that it looked completely natural. Once that was done, he moved onto my beard. Thankfully, he agreed with me that clean shaving would be a mistake. I had no interest in looking like a baby-faced bitch. After eight months in the Trials, I had the physique of a manly man, and I wanted my face to match. He trimmed it back, shaping it slightly while keeping most of the length. He moved slowly around the chair, examining my face from every angle.

He rose onto his tiptoes to look down at it, then squatted to look up at it. Finally, he let out a satisfied hum and returned his scissors to the pouch. And then out came the technology, reminding me that despite the medieval aesthetic, I was surrounded by super-advanced alien tech. He withdrew a small metallic sphere from his pouch and threw it into the air. It came to a stop, hovering above my head. The metal began to melt, becoming more of liquid than a solid, and dripped down onto my hair.

I flinched, expecting it to be hot, but it was actually a little chilly. It tickled as it reformed around my head, taking the shape of some bizarre helmet. It formed an airtight seal over my hair and beard, but left my eyes, nose, mouth, and ears completely unobstructed. Then it started to do its thing. It washed my hair and beard, massaged my face and scalp, then dried everything by heating up and suctioning away all the loose hair and water. I felt a gentle tugging as my hair was pulled and moved around.

Then the metal liquefied once more before rising into the air and reverting to its spherical form. It had styled my hair. Not only that, my beard had been oiled, and there was a faint scent of a very masculine cologne lingering in the air.

"So…" said Tarathiel once he'd returned the sphere to his pouch.

"What do you think?" I stared at my reflection, turning my head so I could check the sides. Holy shit.

"What do I think? You're a god damn miracle worker is what I think. Book me in for a month from now."