Shota Isekai (15) - Assessment (Patreon)

Raven looked down at his bloody hands, a dark expression on his face.

The implication was clear. As long as his body was inexplicably resistant to alchemical elixirs, a simple wound could likely be his end. A cut, a stab, an accidental stumble and hit... any one could mean his doom if he failed to reach a doctor or healing potion fast enough.

"Shit."

"Shit indeed." Cassandra agreed. She reached out a thin, pale finger and delicately scooped up a drop of the excess healing potion. She carefully brought the tiny droplet to her lips. Her tongue flashed out to taste it. "Hmm... low quality."

She casually tossed the empty bottle away. It shattered on the far wall. "There is always a way around obstacles. Always. My research shows that many substances and magical phenomena possess opposite, contradictory properties to alchemy. The healing properties of ordinary magic are perhaps one such counter-example."

Raven didn't reply, still staring grimly down at his unhealed hands.

"Oh, chin up, dear test subject, it could always be worse!"

He snorted softly, glancing at her. "Worse how?"

She spread her arms wide, her smile stretching a touch too far across her face. "You could still be a penniless, starving street rat, completely oblivious to the fact that a simple scratch could become a festering wound and rot you from the inside out."

A dark laugh escaped him. "You're all heart, Cassie."

Cassandra's lavender eyes lit up as she sat there, in her dark, nigh cultist garbs—that Raven could only describe as a mixture of a lab coat and a gothic dress. "I am, aren't I?" She leaned forward, her elbows resting on her desk. "I have a proposition for you. The next two days will be different. No more elixirs. What's the point of throwing good potions down the drain, hm?"

"Then what?"

She put her chin on her hands. "First of all, I'd like to see if you're immune to magic itself, not just its distilled forms. Second, you will help me make a different kind of potion—one that counters your resistance. A primer, if you will. An elixir designed to prime your body to accept other alchemical substances. It will be... an experiment within an experiment."

"Fun." Raven's tone was dry.

"Isn't it?" Her smile widened. "And as payment for your continued invaluable contribution to science, I will give you this."

She reached into a drawer and pulled out a small, shimmering object. It was a ring. A simple, silver band that seemed to have been custom made for his tiny, twelve-year-old fingers.

"Huh... this is a little too sudden. I mean, shouldn't we get to know each other more first?" He grinned. "I'm not that easy, you know."

Cassandra snorted, with a cute roll of her eyes. "It's not an engagement ring, you little fool. This is a Ring of Minor Protection." She explained, tossing it to him. "It's a low-grade enchanted item, but it will absorb a small amount of kinetic damage from any blow. Not much, but better than nothing for a fragile little thing like you."

Raven caught the ring, turning it over in his fingers. It looked like any other ring, nothing special about it. "And you're just... giving this to me?"

"It's a tool to protect my investment." Cassandra clarified, not a single hint of charitable intent in her voice. "You are, after all, my only test subject who isn't either dead or begging to be dead. It would be a shame to lose you now, right when things are getting interesting."

Raven snorted, a bitter smile tugging at his lips.

Of course to this woman, he was just an experiment. A very interesting, resilient, stubborn, talking guinea pig.

"Alright, Cassie." He slipped the ring onto his smallest finger, where it fit snugly. "Let's get weird."

"Oh, we will." Her smile was downright chilling. "We absolutely will."

xXx

Raven realized how much having power could change people's perception of you, or one's perception of themself. Ever since he began eating better, healthier, and learning swordsmanship, he felt invigorated, alive. Like the dark, filthy little urchin in the nightstreets was a creature of the past, a form he shed like a useless cocoon.

There was still a long way to go, but knowing, feeling, how much talent he actually had for the sword changed something fundamental in him. A fire had been stoked, one that, coupled with the thrill of becoming stronger, faster, and tougher every passing day was addictive, filling him with a certain sort of purpose, a feeling that everything was within his grasp.

Every challenge pushed him to push back even harder.

And seeing his progress, the measurable improvements, inspired him to improve even further, even faster, so that the next session would have new, more achievable challenges, which he'd ultimately master over time.

Of course, learning that his injuries became permanent without an easily accessible means to treat them was, naturally, a major setback.

It wasn't that bad, all things considered, the wounds he'd get training with Nova wouldn't exactly spell doom for him. They were a bit like road bumps, slowing him down for a moment, but that was it.

However, it'd be dangerous once he became an adventurer and took on actual jobs. Fighting monsters was an exercise in constant, extreme violence, and the level of physical damage Raven could receive wouldn't be a mere road bump. It could spell the end, one day.

To say the least, Raven was rather invested in Cassandra's supposed creation.

Raven's stroll around the plaza this time didn't garner nearly as much attention. For most of the regular citizens, he was just another random kid. He wasn't as dirty, but clothes maketh man, and he was, after all, just a ragamuffin with cleaner skin and hair.

There was still an uncomfortable level of attention from a select few individuals.

He felt... normal, at least.

Cheers to that.

Raven was slowly but steadily walking up the slope of society.

'I wonder how Lyla is doing...'

Without a phone or mailbox, or any address, it wasn't possible to contact her at all. That said, there was no telling whether she was still in town or gone somewhere else.

Shaking the thoughts aside, Raven walked down the same, familiar street towards Nova's Dojo, where his training would begin anew with harsher intensity.

There wasn't much time left, so Raven went all out to the point that he fainted right there and then, at Nova's feet.

The woman's electrifying golden eyes beheld the little bleeding rat with a reluctant hint of approval and admiration. Few would go as far as bruising one's hands like the kid lying at her feet did, and even fewer would push themselves even harder the next day.

With a sigh, she picked him up like a sack of potatos, and brought him back to the storeroom and laid him down on his futon.

"......"

His discipline. Nay, his obsession, would either get him killed or get him where no one has ever been.

...

... and just like that, the much-anticipated last day came.

"Fuck..."

Raven felt hurt everywhere. Even his eyelids refused to open until he decided to roll off the futon and face-plant the uncomfortable hard floor. Besides, being late today would've been like being late or missing a very important final exam.

So even with the bone-deep tiredness, that pang of excitement was enough push him through his morning rituals. A quick wash. A light breakfast. Some meditation.

And then straight for the dojo.

He wasn't particularly nervous, surprisingly enough. He had proven his talent and diligence.

That morning, as he stepped inside, he found Nova sitting on her knees in the center of the dojo, her back straight as a rod, ready to catch lightning at any moment.

A dangerous woman.

She opened her golden eyes as he entered. "Runt."

Raven grinned, giving her a mock-bow. "Sensei." And nearly regretted it due to back pains.

Her eyebrow twitched.

"Your week is up." She said, her tone flat. "Your performance... has been a contradiction. Physically, you are still pathetic. Your stamina is laughable. Yet your form, your instinct for the sword... is unlike anything I have seen in a beginner."

Raven remained silent, waiting for the verdict.

"It seems you weren't all talk." Nova closed her eyes and released a short breath. "You don't really need an assessment at this point, since anyone with half a brain and one good eye would be able to tell your skills are inexcusably far beyond those of your age."

She opened her eyes and gave him a rare smile.

"But, I'd be doing a disservice if I let you leave here without one. It's about time we spar."

"Well..."

Raven halfway expected it. It seemed so natural to end the trial with one good beat down. Besides, he was curious to see how strong she was. So far, he had yet see how actually superhuman melee fighters of this world were.

And he knew that the woman in front of him was capable of wielding lightning.

Like, as in manipulating currents of lightning and electricity like a tesla coil, and using that very same element for combat.

How ridiculous was that?

Knowing that magic existed toned down the initial shock to a 'well, I guess that makes sense...' level of surprise.

With her usual graceful motions, the blue-haired swordswoman moved to grab two practice swords and offered one to him.

He took it, quite eager to catch a glimpse of Nova's swordplay.

She gestured for him to move into a simple, yet comfortable starting pose.

"It's important to know your limits, little bird. Watching you be so unaware of them, I figured you needed the crash-course." Nova smiled and fell into the same basic stance. "Are you ready?"

Raven nodded firmly. He wasn't in top condition, but an enemy wouldn't give him the time to recover. In a way, it was the perfect opportunity to test how much of a difference being battered made to his overall ability.

They stood in the middle of the dojo, staring each other down.

Nova's lips quirked up as she wiggled her finger at him. "Come."

Raven didn't immediately charge at her. In a battle with a proper opponent, that could get him killed instantly. He studied her for a few seconds, searching for any openings, flaws, or mistakes. Of course, at his level he couldn't possibly recognize what was an actual opening or a bait.

Ultimately, the idea was to give himself a small head start. A slight increase in initiative, to test the waters.

Raven tensed, moving his legs into a slight bent. He would attempt something unexpected and have the added benefit of tricking Nova into underestimating him.

Taking a deep breath and launching forth from his heels, the boy launched into a full sprint at his opponent, aiming at the chest with his dulled blade.

There had to be no hesitation in fight; hesitation could get you killed. Nova explained this to him countless times. There was no room for thinking. Thinking only slowed your body. The mind only thinks for the body. There could be no doubt in him, about his blade, or his conviction. If he doubted or hesitated, against a real foe, he was as good as dead.

The sword, ultimately, was a tool for killing people. It had one sole purpose, its own. Holding back because of misplaced sentimentality was a recipe to become another body for the morgue.

Before a blade, any blade, and a true enemy, you didn't consider consequences, or morals, or pity, or mercy. There was nothing but an absolute desire to draw the red liquid spilling from the other side, while keeping it inside your own.

Holding back was a privilege only the strong could afford. When the gap in skill and strength between two sides was significantly vast, like in the case of Raven and Nova.

Even so, Raven was always careful to observe, analyze, and calculate.

Thrusting a sharp, perfectly aimed blade right at Nova, Raven went for the quick kill.

His sword pierced through the air in a straight, unwavering line, yet angled just slightly upward, compensating for the noticeable difference in height between them.

His strike was perfect, as Nova said with approval many times these past days.

And so was her deflection.

She didn't move. Barely moved a muscle. In fact, only her wrist turned and rotated a notch to the side. It was barely a fraction of a centimeter, a movement so subtle you might be inclined to not believe it truly happened, that your mind tricked you into thinking she hadn't moved at all.

But even this small, subtle movement of a quarter of an inch was enough to completely change the course of his sword.

Raven's eyes didn't fly wide open, as it would normally have happened. Nova had also drilled that into his skull many times. 

Surprise was a momentum destroyer. 

If his grip wavered in surprise at the lack of result or his follow-up suffered from stalling and losing his tempo, this would open an opening. An opening was dangerous, as he'd been told by Nova over and over again.

Hesitation and distraction were deadly. One must always maintain full focus and composure.

Even if it looked like an impossible match-up, a small chance is a chance nonetheless, and could prove useful. If he focused only on his strikes and maintained absolute focus, then every move was a threat and potentially lethal.

By the time your eyes fly open, your neck would be rolling away.

It was easier, admittedly, to drill such a mentality and habit when one had a competent teacher to guide a stubborn little rat along the way.

Pulling his sword back, Raven changed direction immediately. He didn't give himself a rest and thrust again. His reach was simply much too short and the momentum his thin arms could bring was nothing special. 

All he knew was the Three Wonders.

The three basic moves Nova taught him—Thrust, Slice, and Cut.

His left foot flew in a step forward, making his body move in sync with the momentum he put in the thrust, maintaining that same line of attack. Parried. Raven used the residual momentum to keep moving, rotating his pushed-back blade in a glide forward as it came around from the sides, cutting at a steep, diagonal angle.

It wasn't a full arc as Nova had shown him, nor did his arms have enough power to make the cut as fast or fierce, or weighty, as his mentor's, but it was still enough to potentially slash a grown man's throat, or punch a gaping wound through someone's shoulder.

Slice.

'A step back and turn.' He remembered.

But Nova didn't budge. He didn't touch her even a millimeter. She didn't move a single step in any direction. Only her wrist, as quick as a whip, rotated once more as she adjusted and made her blade align perfectly with his. With a smirk, the utmost point of her blade perfectly connected with the very point of his, holding the line of attack at a deadlock.