Dragon's Awakening: The Duke's Son Is Changing The Plot-Chapter 33 - 32 - Disciple and Master 4 (Final).

The next morning.

The golden hue of dawn bled through the canopy, casting a serene light over the forest clearing.

Birds chirped cheerfully, as if mocking Raven's half-dead body lying spread-eagled on the grass.

He groaned, the aches in his muscles screaming in protest with every twitch.

"Good morning, sunshine," came the all-too-cheerful voice of Crisaius Von Vaise.

Raven cracked open one eye. The old man was already standing a few feet away, arms behind his back, posture regal, and looking far too refreshed for someone who had dragged him through hell the previous day.

The problem was that no matter what he did, the Old Man still looked like a beggar.

"Morning?" Raven rasped. "I feel like I fought death and lost."

"You did," Crisaius replied brightly. "But it's a new day, and we have a new tortur—I mean, training to begin."

Raven sat up slowly, eyes wary. "I don't like that pause."

"I was about to say tutoring," Crisaius smiled at him, but Raven squinted his eyes.

"It sounded like torture to me—"

"Anyways," Crisaius cut him off before he could complete his words. "From today onward, you won't use your mana or soul power."

Raven blinked. "...Come again?"

"I said, no mana, no soul power. None of your fancy cheat codes."

"But my mana's already sealed," Raven protested. "Because you poisoned every meal you gave me."

"Exactly," Crisaius nodded approvingly, as if Raven had just answered a quiz correctly. "You're catching on."

Raven rubbed his face. "And now I can't even use soul power?" fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com

Crisaius smiled in a way that made Raven want to run. "Trust me. Unique training requires unique restrictions. It builds character."

Raven narrowed his eyes. "Is this going to be one of those 'train under a waterfall' clichés? Or maybe I'm going to fight bears while blindfolded?"

"Oh, much worse," Crisaius said with a sparkle in his eye.

"...Worse?"

Raven looked at the Old Man suspiciously, frowning.

Crisaius, however, said nothing else. He just smiled—a smile that looked entirely too pleased with itself.

Raven opened his mouth to protest, as he felt something was wrong. His instincts told him that Crisaius was up to something he wouldn't like, but—

WHACK

A sharp pain exploded in the back of his head.

Raven didn't even see Crisaius move.

The world spun, gravity flipped upside-down, and he was falling. The last thought in his head before darkness claimed him was:

Ah, shit...

He didn't know why, but he knew he fucked up.

.....................

When Raven came to, the first thing he noticed was that he couldn't feel his arms. Or his legs. Or... well, anything below the neck.

The second thing he noticed was the tree.

It wasn't just a tree. It was a tree—an ancient monstrosity of bark and roots, so colossal that Raven couldn't see where it ended in either direction.

Its surface was rough, gnarled, and covered in strange marks that seemed older than time.

His arms were pinned behind him by vines that seemed alive, coiled tight enough to bite into his skin.

His legs were bound to the trunk. His torso was plastered flat to the tree like a very unhappy poster.

"What in the—OLD MAN!!" Raven shouted, voice echoing in the vast silence.

He felt he was left here to die by Crisaius.

'He expects me to survive with my body bound like this—?'

Before he could complete his words, from the shadows, a familiar silhouette stepped into view.

Crisaius.

And in his hand...

A thick, ominous wooden rod.

It was covered in oil, gleaming in the morning sun like a divine instrument of torment.

Raven's heart skipped a beat. "Wh-Why do you have that? Wait—why is it oiled?!"

Crisaius smiled.

The kind of smile that should be illegal.

"This is a discipline rod," he said matter-of-factly. "And now, it's time to begin your refinement training."

"REFINEMENT?!" Raven practically shrieked. "This isn't alchemy! What are you—?! You better not be thinking what I think you're thinking!"

"Oh, I think you'll like this," Crisaius said, advancing slowly. "You're a masochist, after all."

"WHAT?!" Raven's face twisted in horror. "Where in the seven hells did you get that idea?!"

"You kept grinning when you were insulted by me the first day we met," Crisaius said calmly. "You even changed your mind about staying here right after that. It's clear you like it when people are rough with you."

"No-No, wait! It wasn't like that—!"

He wanted to clarify himself, but it was already too late.

CRACK

The rod came down with a sound like thunder meeting flesh.

"AAAAAAAAARGH!!" Raven howled, his entire body flinching violently against the unyielding tree.

Crisaius nodded with scholarly satisfaction. "Good tone. The tree aids in healing, but the main factor is your bodily healing. Even the bruises will heal in no time; all you have to do is stay conscious."

"YOU WILL KEEP AT IT BECAUSE IT WOULD HEAL?!"

CRACK—CRACK—CRACK

Blow after blow rained down, methodical and merciless. Legs, back, shoulders, even his calves—no muscle group was spared.

"YOU PSYCHOPATH!!"

"Stop pretending it hurts," Crisaius said with an indulgent smile, not stopping. "I know you like it. You're just shy."

"I'M NOT A MASOCHIST!!!"

"Sure, sure," Crisaius said dismissively, his rod swinging with alarming precision. "They all say that."

Raven's brain short-circuited from rage, pain, and disbelief.

The old man—this delusional, walking war crime of a man—was dead serious. He genuinely believed Raven enjoyed this.

And what made it worse?

He wasn't stopping.

By the time the "session" ended, Raven's body felt like one giant, pulsing bruise.

His voice was hoarse, his eyes bloodshot, and he'd gone through all five stages of grief, twice.

Panting heavily, he looked up as Crisaius finally set the rod aside.

"There. One round completed."

"One?" Raven croaked, his soul leaving his body.

"Out of ten," Crisaius clarified cheerfully. "We'll start with ten sets daily. You can't tell right now, but your physique, which is the best in history, isn't just about healing."

Ignoring that Raven didn't like the topic, the Old Man continued, "Unlike blood wounds, which need regeneration, bruises don't."

Glancing at Raven, who had closed his eyes, with no energy to speak, Crisaius went on.

"Normal Vaise physique doesn't heal bruises as they heal in time on their own, but the stronger ones do," pausing mysteriously, making Raven, who was silently listening to it, frown, he continued with a smile.

"But as I said before, bruises don't need regeneration, so instead, the physique strengthens the bruised part."

Seeing Raven staring at his bruises with half-open eyes, Crisaius adds, "You won't see improvement now, but in months, you will see them, and you will realize how useful they are."

"Wait..." Raven's body tensed as he heard something he didn't expect to hear. "... did you say months?"

Crisaius tilted his head in confusion before his eyes brightened.

"Oh! I didn't tell you?" He exclaimed. "You will be here for at least two years."

Raven stared at the Old Man, wanting to scream, cry, or both.

But all he managed was a whimper: "...I hate you."

Crisaius beamed. "I love you too, my little disciple."

And with that, he disappeared in a swirl of wind and leaves.

Raven slumped against the tree, barely conscious, eyes twitching.

'This... this is my life now.'

A distant bird cawed overhead.

It sounded like it was laughing at him, but Raven just groaned.

He knew, no matter what he said, there was no going back now. He had to endure whatever that crack head of an Old Man puts him through.

Even if it was hard, he at least knew the result was an Indigo-ranked opportunity.

So, he had to endure. He would endure.