The wilderness did not test gently.
It did not offer measured challenges or controlled environments where growth could be carefully observed and refined, but instead threw raw, unpredictable danger at those who stepped into it, forcing adaptation through struggle, pain, and survival, and Raizen understood this better than most, which was precisely why he chose not to remain within the safety of the cave, but instead stepped deeper into the wildlands where mutated beasts roamed freely, their existence shaped by unstable mana and distorted evolution.
He did not wander aimlessly.
He hunted.
The forest grew denser the further he moved, its trees towering high enough to blot out portions of the sky while the ground beneath became uneven, layered with roots, stones, and damp soil that made movement treacherous for anyone lacking awareness, yet Raizen navigated it carefully, his senses stretched outward, his body tense, his grip firm on the hilt of Demon Maiden: Sheik, because this would not be a controlled training session.
This—
Would be survival.
It did not take long.
A sound broke the stillness.
Low.
Heavy.
Raizen stopped instantly, his gaze shifting toward the source as his breathing slowed, his body lowering slightly into a stance that balanced readiness with restraint, because rushing into an unknown threat was the fastest way to die.
The bushes ahead rustled violently.
Then—
It emerged.
A boar.
But not one that belonged to nature.
Its body was larger than it should have been, its muscles unnaturally swollen, its hide darkened and hardened in places as though partially armored, while faint traces of mana flickered around it in unstable bursts, distorting the air near its tusks.
A mutated beast.
"…Good," Raizen murmured quietly, not out of confidence, but acceptance, because this was exactly what he needed.
The boar noticed him.
Its eyes locked onto his figure instantly, red and unstable, driven by instinct rather than thought, and without hesitation—
It charged.
The ground shook beneath its weight.
Raizen did not move immediately.
He waited.
The distance closed rapidly, the beast's speed far greater than an ordinary animal, its sheer mass turning its charge into something that could crush bone on impact.
"…Now."
Raizen stepped.
To the side.
Barely avoiding the initial charge as the boar tore past him, its tusks slicing through the air where he had stood a moment before, the force of its movement enough to send dirt and debris scattering outward.
He turned instantly.
Swung.
The blade of Sheik cut through the air with precision, striking the beast's flank—
But—
Clang.
The impact reverberated through his arm.
"…Tch."
It had not cut deep.
The hardened hide absorbed most of the force, leaving only a shallow wound, one that barely slowed the creature as it skidded to a halt before turning again, its aggression only increasing.
"You lack power."
Raizen ignored the comment.
Because he already knew.
The boar charged again.
Faster this time.
Raizen moved forward instead of back, closing the distance deliberately, his grip tightening as he adjusted his angle, aiming not for brute force, but for precision.
At the last moment—
He shifted.
The tusk grazed past his side, tearing through his clothing, leaving a thin line of blood across his ribs, yet he did not falter, his body twisting as he brought the blade down toward the creature's neck.
The strike landed.
Deeper this time.
But not enough.
The boar roared, its body jerking violently as it swung its head upward, forcing Raizen to jump back to avoid being thrown off balance, his breathing slightly heavier now, his body already beginning to feel the strain of fighting something physically superior.
"…Not efficient," he muttered.
"Then adapt."
Raizen's eyes sharpened.
Adapt.
Not overpower.
He moved again.
This time—
He waited.
The boar charged once more, but instead of dodging immediately, Raizen held his ground for a fraction longer, observing the movement, the rhythm, the slight delay in its turning speed, the moment of vulnerability hidden within its aggression.
Then—
He stepped in.
Closer.
Inside its range.
The tusks missed.
And his blade—
Struck.
This time—
He aimed for the same spot.
The previous wound.
The blade sank deeper.
Blood followed.
The boar staggered.
Then roared—
But Raizen did not retreat.
He pressed forward.
Again.
And again.
Each strike landing on the same point, each movement sharper, more precise, until finally—
The blade pierced through.
The boar collapsed.
Silence returned.
Raizen stood still for a moment, his chest rising and falling steadily as he looked down at the fallen beast, not with pride, nor satisfaction, but with quiet acknowledgment.
"…I can fight."
"Barely," came the calm response.
Raizen exhaled slowly.
"…For now."
Without wasting time, he lifted the carcass, the weight considerable but manageable, and began the journey back to the cave, because hunting was only the first step.
Growth—
Came after.
The cave welcomed him once more with its cold, unmoving silence as he placed the boar's body down and sat cross-legged nearby, his focus shifting inward as he began the process of absorbing mana, drawing it from the environment and guiding it through his pathways toward his core.
At first, the process was slow.
Unrefined.
But repetition changed that.
Hours turned into days.
And as his familiarity with the flow of mana improved, so too did his efficiency, his control sharpening gradually as the once scattered energy began to respond more willingly to his guidance.
Then—
After some time—
He spoke.
"…What about demonic energy?"
A brief silence followed.
"Guide it to the demonic core."
Raizen's eyes remained closed.
"…That's it?"
"It will convert what it needs."
Simple.
Yet effective.
Raizen followed the instruction, carefully drawing in ambient mana before directing a portion of it toward the darker core, observing closely as the energy shifted, changed, became something heavier, denser.
"…So it refines it."
"It devours it."
Raizen continued.
Days passed.
Then—
A week.
By the end of it, the difference was clear.
His mana core had grown.
From F+—
To E-.
And his demonic core—
Had reached Low Intermediary.
A different system entirely.
"…Four stages per rank," Raizen murmured quietly. "Low. Mid. High. Peak."
He understood now.
And more importantly—
He was progressing.
Not slowly.
But steadily.
Which was enough.
Soon after, he returned to the ring, this time not searching for weapons, but for techniques that matched his current level, something practical, something usable, something that would allow him to hunt more efficiently.
He found them.
Three.
Simple.
Yet effective.
Abyssal Edge Infusion — a technique that allowed him to channel mana directly into his blade, increasing its cutting power and allowing it to bypass tougher defenses.
Tidecaller's Grasp — a water manipulation technique that enabled him to draw moisture from the environment and shape it, giving him control over external water in combat.
Rupture Stream — a concentrated burst of pressurized water released in an explosive jet, capable of piercing through targets at close range.
"…Low level," he murmured.
"Appropriate for your level."
Raizen did not argue.
Instead—
He trained.
Every day.
He hunted mutated beasts.
Fought.
Bled.
Adapted.
And in between—
He practiced.
Refining his control.
Perfecting his techniques.
Sometimes—
Noctus spoke.
Correcting.
Advising.
Other times—
Silence.
But Raizen no longer depended on it.
Because this—
Was his path now.
Time passed.
One month.
And the change—
Was visible.
His body had become leaner, the excess weakness stripped away through constant exertion, while muscle formed not in bulk, but in efficiency, every movement sharper, more controlled, his posture steadier, his presence quieter—
Yet more dangerous.
His deep blue hair had grown longer, falling past his eyes at times, though he tied it back carelessly with a band, leaving only a few loose strands to frame a face that had lost its former softness, replaced now with focus.
That night—
After training—
He sat outside the cave.
The sky stretched above him, dark and endless, filled with distant stars that seemed far removed from the struggles of the world below.
Noctus was silent.
But Raizen did not mind.
Because he no longer needed constant guidance.
This—
Was his time.
His thoughts drifted briefly.
To the academy.
To the future.
To them.
The protagonist.
The princess.
The heirs of powerful families.
He remembered.
How they had looked at him.
Disdain.
Mockery.
As though he did not belong.
A faint irritation surfaced.
Not entirely his own.
Because with this body—
Came remnants.
Emotions.
Belonging to the former Raizen.
"…Annoying," he muttered quietly.
Yet he did not reject them.
Because they—
Were useful.
He accessed his status.
And observed.
E+
And his demonic core—
High Intermediary.
A faint smile formed.
"…Good."
Then he stood.
Because satisfaction—
Was temporary.
Training—
Was not.
He continued until late into the night, his blade moving through the darkness, his control sharper with each repetition, his progress steady, unwavering.
Finally—
He slept.
And as his consciousness faded—
One thought remained.
"…Tomorrow…"
A pause.
"…Flow."
Because the next step—
Would not be easy.