Back in his favourite spot below his favourite tree, surrounded by his favourite fluffy harem, Myrkas took out the secret amulet: The Assessor. He could scarcely believe his uncle had such an artifact hidden away in his cupboard. It seemed way too grand for a provincial alchemist, never mind how talented he was.
How his uncle had procured the object was a mystery. A mystery Myrkas was happy to put to the side if it meant he had unlimited access to the tool.
Assessors were usually reserved for the powerful, the influential. For common mortals, their only hope to ever access one was to join the Imperial Military. Every soldier was assessed a least once by the army's standard, basic artifact. Those, however, were not of the portable kind. They were made to standard, by middling artisans. The large stele-like tools were exclusively found in military training camps and specific, central barracks.
No one would think to steal those. Not only were they unwieldy, they were also fairly restricted. They merely assessed a cultivator's basic characteristics such as their Realm, stage, step, and number of spiritual roots. A subject his uncle had skipped over, now that Myrkas had a minute to think. No matter, the boy had enough to start.
The Assessor in Myrkas' hands was different, unique. If he were to believe his uncle, the subdued pendant might be one of the mythical Assessors created by a Master right before they Ascended to the next Realm of Existence. A tool not only to assess but to guide. A repository of cultivation techniques, possibly of martial and crafting theory. The truly exemplary Assessors were said to be able to imprint guidance into the mind of the assessed one.
This, this little marvel could be it. The ultimate cultivation cheat code. A boon worthy of an isekai protagonist. An old master in a box! If it was as amazing as Myrkas hoped, this object alone could let someone found an unparalleled cultivation sect. A temple to cultivation, martial arts, and potentially crafting, depending on the amulet's actual content.
A brilliant smile split Myrkas' face. Enough that both Snow and Lilac edged closer to him, intrigued by his uncharacteristically jovial demeanour, Even Margoat came next to him, although the ivory goat was soon distracted by Myrkas' unruly hair. Hair she immediately started to munch on. Thankfully, the quadruped never ripped the boy's hair out—or he would have been bald already. She was content to chew on his curls while they were still attached to his head. Myrkas had learned soon enough to quickly distract the animal with plant-based snacks unless the boy wanted to become soaked in slobber.
Hairy crisis averted, young Myrkas readied himself to activate the treasure. His uncle had mentioned being careful to let the amulet touch his bare skin. As merely fiddling with it in his hands didn't do anything, Myrkas concluded the wood-like pendant needed full contact to work. And on his chest, most likely, seeing as it had been made into a necklace. Myrkas never ceased to impress himself with his indisputable deductive prowesses.
Hence why Myrkas, hidden away in the back gardens, took off his outer robe and his inner shirt. The advancing spring weather was too warm by now to warrant a set of inner robes or an overlying sleeveless kaftan unless Myrkas participated in a fancy-ish kind of event. That left the tween bare-chested, wearing only his ankle-length royal blue underpants, and matching silk and leather slippers.
The boy had filled out substantially since the fateful funeral. His ribs were no longer showing, and though his abdominal muscles still showed when Myrkas flexed, his physiognomy could no longer be used as an anatomy lesson. A healthy layer of fat now lay under Myrkas' skin, a sure sign of Marta di Kroush's competence in the kitchen.
Myrkas had gained muscle mass too. While undeniably lean, he felt more solid overall. Less at risk of suddenly transforming into a hungry ghoul after one missed meal. On the other hand, the youth had yet to experience any manly hair growth. It would come, he knew, with some trepidation. He only vaguely remembered the whole "becoming a man" process from his past life. Surely, testosterone should not change him that much?
Anyway, now was not the time. This day was meant for grander things, for an Assessment! Eagerly, Myrkas put on the artifact, letting its weight rest on his bare skin. It hung low on him, reaching his upper belly. Carefully, barely daring to breathe, he waited. And waited. And... nothing happened. No "system" box magically appeared into thin air. Myrkas heard no ethereal voice in his head. No lights and fanfare to announce his level. Not even a drum roll or a tiny firework, like those used on birthday cakes. Fairly anticlimactic.
Stolen novel; please report.
Of course his uncle had forgotten to give Myrkas instructions on how to use the so-called priceless artifact. If only things went as he had expected for once. Myrkas wasn't asking for much either. A few transmigrator privileges, that was all. He didn't even wish to mess with the main story. The boy was perfectly fine staying in his provincial corner, doing his things. Maybe build a hygiene and alchemy commercial empire, Totally reasonable, easily achievable ambitions. Just a fair serving of money and power, most preferably delivered now, at his—well, his uncle's, to be accurate—doorstep, ready to grasp without any cooking required.
Myrkas sighed in exasperation. Nothing was that simple, especially not life, even if he had indeed become one of the protagonists of this world's current era. But the boy did not want to go straight back to his uncle for an explanation. It felt like defeat, as if Myrkas would fail untold expectations by not succeeding in activating the Assessor on his own. He did not want to disturb and disappoint his uncle so soon after his lengthy teaching session. Myrkas wasn't an idiot, he could figure it out. As long as he did not break anything...
Before attempting anything riskier, such as the true and tried "bang the object until it works" method, Myrkas settled on meditating a little. It would help clear his head, to plan the best way to go at it. As always, Snow jumped on him as soon as she sensed he was about to start his self-made cultivation technique. She sat in his lap this time, in her own meditative position.
Her sister Lilac did not move from her spot laying lazily next to Myrkas' thigh. She was happy there in the dappled sunshine, with her eponym eyes closed. His goats kept with their grazing of the nearby mix of clover and grass. Thank Heavens Serni was happy with the new supply of quality fertilizer or Myrkas feared his furry, horned friends might have ended up as dinner after they ate a few flowers too many. The goats knew better now. They strictly stuck to the allowed flora. And the snacks Myrkas sneaked them.
Myrkas closed his eyes and started his meditation. His breathing deepened. His Qi flowed, following the rhythm of his reliable mantra: "Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger." After two breathing cycles, something odd happened. Myrkas felt the braided leather of his necklace shortened. The artifact moved on his skin before stopping at the bottom of his sternum, directly over his xiphoid process. The circular pendant was warming against his skin, filling Myrkas with excitement.
Hopeful, the youth opened his eyes. Snow was looking at him intently, head turned on its side, nose wiggling in question. Myrkas had to stop himself from explaining everything. She was a rabbit, a smart rabbit for sure, but nowhere smart enough to understand the intricacies of cultivation and Assessments. He felt foolish for a second there, Her cute face and wide pink eyes had almost convinced him she possessed human-level sapience. Almost. Myrkas silently laughed as he started to pet her.
Gazing at his chest, Myrkas noticed the artifact had changed. The faint runes glowed brighter, in a warm orange and gold light. The runes were moving, changing, arraying themselves in mystic patterns. Myrkas again wished it had come with an instruction booklet, a runic dictionary, or even better, for his uncle to supervise his nephew instead of once again forgetting his existence to concentrate on alchemic research and production.
Myrkas was convinced the princeling was carefully watched over and counselled when he was using the Imperial Assessor. Not just given a perfunctory "Good Luck" after being handed over an—assumed—one-of-a-kind, priceless artifact. An object his uncle had not bothered to explain how it had ended up in his possession. It was frustrating. A welcome boon, but still frustrating.
Myrkas anxiously waited for the assessor to proceed. If he thought he looked a little silly, bare-chested and waiting immobile on a slightly chilly spring day, he refrained from acknowledging it out loud. So he waited. And waited. A little redundant to say the least.
At his fifth full-body shiver, Myrkas lost patience. Sure, the runes were shinier, but nothing else was happening. Myrkas had tried to meditate again. For at least a full hour. He was quite certain of it, as the shadows had moved a good 30° since he had started.
Lilac had had time to wake up and bother him for snacks and the delicate task of brushing her luxurious fur. A task the boy had only gotten away from by promising an extended fur maintenance session—complete with a soft water bath and essential oils treatment—in addition to regular brushing in the evening. And extra cabbage. Carrots were overrated. Cabbage and fale were the true rabbit favourites. And pansies for some reason.
Back to the Assessor, Myrkas grabbed his courage and, gingerly, examined the object more closely. Apart from the aforementioned runes, nothing else had changed. It was a little warm, a little glowing, but otherwise unremarkable in its apparent mundanity.
Sighing, Myrkas turned it around. He had missed something, that much was obvious. With great care, he tried to turn and press on anything he could convince himself was a hidden "power button". Without success. Undeterred, Myrkas persevered.
The boy was so taken by his task, that he failed to notice the horned monster lurking next to him. When she suddenly struck, he was too taken aback to prevent anything. Myrkas could only watch, helpless, as Satine—his black and white angora goat—viciously sunk her flat teeth into the priceless artifact.