Shota Isekai (17) - The Path Forward (Patreon)

'It has come to an end.' Raven reflected in silence.

His seven-day trial period at Nova's Dojo had finally finished, with unexpected success.

To be honest, though Raven had some hope for himself, there was doubt about what was a realistic goal to aim for. He certainly didn't expect to pass with flying colors like an honors student at a top-class university. In the end, he managed to impress the master, which was a huge accomplishment in his mind.

As a result, he was now considered a full-fledged student, with the added benefit of attending Nova's Dojo for free from now on.

A sweet, sweet privilege that would have probably cost hundreds of silver coins to anyone else seeking tutelage from the swordmaster.

When asked about it, Nova said money wasn't an issue for her, and that she had enough gold coins in her house to buy a small mansion.

She had no family. The dojo had been passed down to her by her deceased grandfather.

And her only purpose in keeping it open was her sense of responsibility and obligation. To find a worthy disciple to pass on her knowledge, and to ultimately continue her family's legacy through them.

He was the only one of many applicants to meet her high, nearly unreachable standards.

Well, truth was that he was the only willing applicant for the past few years—and ironically with a talent beyond most she'd seen in her lifetime. And yet, what impressed her the most was his ability to take a beating and keep going.

“Haah… haah… haah…”

Raven lay sprawled on the polished floorboards like a dead fish, his pale skin crisscrossed with red tally marks. Nova personally notched each one of them with paper-cut precision. They were thin lines that didn't even bleed properly; it'd hardly impede him from his duties or training.

Nova looked down at him, her shadow falling across his face.

He gasped desperately, his lungs two shriveled sacks, refusing to fill properly.

"Damn it."

She smirked. "Twenty-seven cuts. I went easy on you."

"You always do..."

"True, but yesterday it would have been over fifty cuts. You're improving."

"......"

They used real swords. And her reason went beyond training, as she explained that they were now part of the new lessons. They were taking practical, hands-on experience, and training the sensation of getting slashed by an authentic sword rather than a harmless wooden stick.

After all, it was often better to get slashed on the cheek with the lightest pressure possible to get the feeling ingrained in you than to actually get slashed with real intentions. 

Raven had to get accustomed to being poked and stabbed until his brain remembered that 'Hey, pain! So try your best not to let a blade hit you like that'.

It sounded very weird, but made a lot of sense. Fear of pain was one of the hardest lessons to break when you learned sword fighting, which would have a potential life-long effect on the performance.

If Raven ever reached a level in sword fighting where he had the experience and technical skill, but still shied away and flailed because of fear, that was the day he'd end up with a very large hole in his chest.

Fear. It was an essential factor to the development of skill that needed to be overcome.

Any practitioner worth their salt had to experience this psychological battle against oneself first-hand. It was another necessary requirement, or else it'd have been far better for him to not bother pursuing that road to begin with.

This was not a standard for every teacher. Nova was rather rare in this respect, since she pushed her students hard beyond their limits of sanity and mind. 

In fact, now that Raven could be considered a proper disciple of the dojo, she was taking into consideration removing another psychological barrier, other than pain.

Murder.

Actual, honest murder.

She had principles, and urging a twelve-year old orphan to slit a person's throat was not one of them. Even for a hardass woman like Nova, the kid needed to be a bit older and more aware.

The days of the war were long gone—there was no need for a street rat to take on such a mental burden so early on in his development. 

And while he’d stand at that crossroad, eventually, Nova pondered whether it’d be wise to break those shackles now.

But, such potential…

Nova shook her head.

"Well, one thing at a time..." She spoke aloud and brought a waterskin full of fresh water and emptied it all onto Raven's face in a few, generous dumps. "Drink, and get your lazy ass up."

The boy gasped, opened his eyes wide, and sat up like he had been zapped.

"Shit—fuck." He hissed.

"Wimp." Nova grabbed him by the collar of his sweaty, blood-stained tunic and hauled him up. He had no trouble standing, even while dizzy, but Nova made sure to poke and push him in the directions he needed to go. The point, here, wasn't him standing independently; the point was that she could manhandle him, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. "Go eat."

Raven obeyed. His mentor was like his drill master and adopted mom. Well, perhaps not quite adopted mom, though he wondered how she'd react if he called her that.

Would she choke him out or knock him into the wall? Perhaps both would be applied in sync?

Hm. 

Better not risk it.

Raven and Nova ate in relative peace.

Unlike before, where Raven would gorge himself like a starved wolf, he now ate with more restraint.

He still wasn't used to having a home and a full stomach, but the novelty was slowly wearing off.

"We need to talk about your future." Nova said, lightly.

"Mhm?" Raven mumbled, his mouth full of food. "I'm not getting kicked out, am I?"

"No." She hummed as she poured wine into a glass. "You're still very young, but even young kids start working around your age. Even more so for the less fortunate. And you can't apply common sense to a talented twerp like you and expect things to play out like everyone else. So, what is it you wish to accomplish with the time and energy you're given?"

Raven stuffed a bread roll into his cheeks and chewed while thinking his answer over.

After a second, he swallowed and answered.

"Becoming an adventurer, joining the Guild. Obviously."

"Hm. I suppose it's understandable, that'd be the expected path you'd choose, but consider for a second." Nova traced the rim of her glass with a slender finger. "Becoming an adventurer is, like everything else in the world, a merit-based society. At the beginning, when your reputation is undecided and your name isn't worth any more than any other, the life of an adventurer is... relatively risky. Not much stability or success or recognition. Not at your age."

"Where else would I apply the skills you're giving me? A guardsman?"

He scoffed. 

"With the experience you've gained, it's an option, not that there's no stigma or hierarchy."

"It would be boring..." He mumbled.

"Yes, it's quite boring." She smiled. "Swordsmen have their own hierarchy among themselves as well, and you have to slowly work your way up the ladder. After a certain point, age doesn't mean much, just the strength and skill you can bring to the table. Becoming a guard would be a slow life. The position of a nobleman's guard or a city watchman comes with some respect, granted. But once you have established yourself in this position, you cannot hope to be acknowledged and recognized by a larger crowd unless you are very well-known. Not really conducive to advancing as an individual if that is what you want. A cozy position, a meager wage, little prestige and a slow death, really."

"Then there's no choice other than being an adventurer. Everything else would be a waste of time."

"Perhaps..." Nova exhaled, taking another sip, so lost in thought she probably didn't even remember it was wine she was drinking. "With your age and background, there isn't much else that could be recommended. Nor would I recommend any of the alternatives; my swordsmanship isn't meant to protect a noble's rear."

"You hate them, don't you?"

She grinned, baring her fangs.

"I dislike them. Strongly." Her tone shifted. "I'll give you two pieces of advice for your future. First, don't be naive. As a street rat you should know this, but the moment you become a registered adventurer, you'll be treated as a disposable asset by many, including the Guild itself. The law isn't kind to those without money and status, and you are at the absolute bottom of the barrel. If you get into trouble, you're on your own. You need to rely on yourself and your allies—though allies can be just as dangerous as enemies, if not more. Do not trust easily."

She paused, setting the glass down with a soft click. "And that brings us to the second point, which is far more important than the first… pick your party wisely. A sword is only as good as the hand that wields it. A party is only as good as the trust between its members. The wrong party will get you killed faster than any monster."

She looked at him.

"I can teach you how to use a sword, kid. I can teach you how to fight, how to kill, how to survive. But I can't teach you who to trust. That's a lesson you'll have to learn on your own."

"I understand..."

He nodded. 

Nova emptied her cup and set it down with a soft click. She looked at him for a long, silent moment. "I have a gift for you, kid." She told him as she led him to the back of the dojo.

He followed after her. 

There, in a quiet, secluded corner, stood a worn but well-maintained weapon rack. 

Nova had always kept him away from there, telling him he wasn't worthy.

Looks like he was, now. 

She selected a weapon from the rack and presented it to him.

It was a sword. A proper, one-handed arming sword. Not too long, not too short, with a simple, unadorned steel crossguard and a leather-wrapped grip that was smooth with age. 

The blade itself was plain, lacking any engravings or ornamentation, but it had a certain... quality to it.

It was clean and sharp. Of higher quality than the standard sword they used to spar today. 

"It's our dojo's rule to present every disciple with their own blade after the trial period is over." Nova said, with a nostalgic smile. That weapon rack mustn't have seen much action or movement these recent times. "I'm entrusting this to you; I've been taking care of each one of them, even if there's rarely anyone here nowadays. One day, you will outgrow it, but, for the time being, this sword will be your responsibility. I expect it to be cared for and cleaned frequently, and for you to hone the edge every night before sleep."

He drew it from the leather sheath Nova handed him.

"Hrm..." Raven made an experimental swing or two. The weapon fit his arms. It was a little heavier and bigger than the sword he'd trained with, but otherwise perfect. He smiled, feeling more than a little proud. "Thank you... it's perfect."

She tapped him on the back of his neck with her knuckles. "Stop thinking, put on a good face, and say what you really wanted to say, damn it. No need to be so shy with me, kid."

A smile crawled up Raven's lips, the boy turning, gripping the blade. He stood straight, looked his master in the eye, and spoke the words.

"Thank you... Master Velisia."