Horror flooded the tween. He should have known. Satine was named so since her black horns and orange-red eyes made her look devilish. As to why "Satine" sounded demonic to Myrkas—and only to him—the boy did not know. Likely something to do with his past life. Regardless, Satine invoked badass images of tall, bipedal red goats with fire powers and forked tails to Myrkas' mind. That was the main reason why he chose her at the market.

In short, as awesome as she may be, Satine was destined to have an evil side. A self-fulfilling prophecy. And Myrkas was now paying the consequences.

Panic sprouted and grew upon Myrkas' spirit. His key to great power, his one "probably a protagonist-level cheat" was stuck in the maws of his damned goat. It was covered in slobber. Worse, Satine was actively trying to chew it. After all of Myrkas' careful handling, the Assessor was fated to break under the unending hunger of a non-spiritual ruminant, a totally mundane animal.

A critical match ensued, quickly won by Myrkas. He had succeeded in recovering the mystical wet disk. Unapologetic, Satine huffed and left for a patch of clover, nudging Margoat to the side. Both her sisters gave her looks, as if to reprimand her for her antics, but were nonetheless too occupied with their own curd to intervene. The bicolored goat was shameless. Completely so. She even seemed proud of herself, if she was looked at from an angle.

However, Satine remained a goat. Myrkas couldn't really blame her. She could not know, Anything could be food or something fun to chew on. At least that one didn't like his hair. Small blessing. It left Myrkas with only one option: re-direct his rising anger at the useless prince.

It did not matter if Myrkas failed to explain how these happenings could ever be the princeling's fault. That was not the point. The point was to feel better, and blaming a privileged main character did that. Myrkas needed an outlet—or he would go insane—and the prince was it. Sucked for the royal—but not really as he was so far away.

Hesitant, Myrkas wiped the pendant with his shirt. The details still glowed but had stopped their motions. To Myrkas' horror, two parts-vis-a-vis one another had been pushed in.

Shocked, Myrkas let go of the wood-like circle, which pressed back to his chest. Before the boy could process the amount of trouble he was undoubtedly in, a shimmering, orange and gold light escaped from the depressions.

Without a word, Myrkas watched as the powder-like shimmer gathered and formed an... a "blob" would be the most apt descriptor. It was almost identical to those slimes sold in a cup at cheap corner stores. Or a slime monster, as those were a thing here, apparently. Myrkas had yet to see one, but they existed or so his uncle said. Anyway, he doubted "regular" slime monsters floated or were this sparkly and magical looking.

Relief warred with ongoing anxiety. This development looked like progress. Or an irreparable mistake if the "blob" represented all the Qi, and whatever else the Assessor needed to work, escaping its confine. A major screw-up or a success, no in-between.

Taking a calming breath, Myrkas still flinched when the sparkling blob moved. The pendant warmed further on his skin with an added sensation of spreading tingles. Not painful but definitely an unnerving sensation. When Myrkas dared to look back, the shimmer had reshaped itself into a single word: "Assessing."

Pure excitement blossomed within Myrkas. And relief, much relief. A tremendous amount of relief. A whole pile, a mountain. So much so that his limbs now felt like jelly. Myrkas could almost forgive Satine and the prince for making him live this rollercoaster of emotions. Who was he kidding? Satine was already forgiven. She was too fluffy to stay mad at. The prince, however, Myrkas could resent for as long as he wanted. Take that imperial not-bastard.

The tingling and some warmth spread throughout every nook and cranny of Myrkas' body before the assessment completed. For its entire duration, Myrkas could have sworn his stomach hosted not just a butterfly party but a butterfly rave, with full-on bass and laser lights. The anticipation was killing him. At last, the words changed to a proper Assessment display.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

[Assessment Complete]

[Report]

Name: Myrkas Hakhmir

Age standard: 12

Race: Human

Constitution: None

Bloodline: None

Spirit Roots: 2

* Water at Copper level,

* Air at Wood level,

* no other root above Mortal level

Meridians: Trivial

Dantians:

* Upper: near gate closed, far gate closed

* Middle: near gate closed, far gate closed

* Lower: near gate closed, far gate closed

Soul composition: 63% Yang 37% Yin

Qi types detected: 1—Undefined

Warning, soul damage detected. Dual fused reparation detected.

Realm: Mortal

Stages:

* Body plane: Qi gathering Step 2

* Qi-plane: Qi gathering Step 0

* Soul plane: Qi gathering Step 3

Detected techniques:

* Meditation, self-made, Breath centred–Copper level

Skills:

1. Martial:

* Unarmed combat–Novice

* Evasion–Beginner

2. crafting: None

3. Social: None

4. Artistic: None

[Report Complete]

A status sheet. Myrkas finally had a mythic status sheet—or Assessment report, whatever. He suddenly felt like a video game character, ready to take on his first monster. Or save the world from a magic zombie apocalypse. Okay, maybe not a zombie plague. Undeads were gross. And scary as all hells. Better to hope for a dark sorcerer or vampires. Or, even better, a "catch them all" type monster hunter. Build a team and become the best of the best. Myrkas already had a super rabbit. Nothing beat the overpowered starter, it was a well-known fact.

Back to serious business, Myrkas could not help but be a little disappointed by his results. While it was amazing, beyond useful, to objectively witness his progress—the proof he wasn't a fool sitting around for nothing—he had hoped to have progressed more. Sure, it had not been a full season yet—less than three months, with each month containing four nonats here—since Myrkas had awoken in the Allrin Empire, and even less since he had actively started to cultivate. He had to keep his expectations in check. It was unreasonable to expect to fly through Realms as if he was an unopposed genius prodigy not seen in a million years.

Still, Myrkas had thought, foolishly wished perhaps, that his constant efforts would have bore more fruits, many more. To be closer to the next stage in cultivation in at least one of his three planes, not barely passed the starting line. Nothing in his status screamed "protagonist potential" apart from the broken soul comment.

Worse, the Assessor had not acknowledged his effort with soap making whatsoever. His crafting section was one big "nada," better luck next time. It was disheartening. The boy could see his soaps were not quite there yet. They might be a bit too crude to revolutionize the hygiene market, but he was trying. That mattered! He did not need a trophy, but a participation ribbon would have been nice. A little encouragement cost nothing and helped a lot with perseverance. He even had plans to add goat milk as soon as possible to his soap recipe.

The Assessor clearly should have seen his progress and plans and made a mention of it. It would have been a nice thing to do. The polite thing. The artifact's creator could have done better. Myrkas was convinced the damned prince received congratulations for farting right. Unfair, life was simply unfair.

Sighing, Myrkas reluctantly agreed with the rest of the assessment. He had enough self-awareness to acknowledge his wanting artistic inclinations, and his social discomfort with any people who were not his Nirsa or an eight-year-old, curly-haired devil with grass-green eyes and freckles.

His recent bout in the ring had thoroughly disillusioned the boy concerning his current martial prowess. He had a lot to learn, hence his coming discipleship with his hopefully not-too-sadistic Martial Arts Master. One could dream, in colours with full surround sound.

Evidently, Myrkas' future as an undefeatable powerhouse was not due for the next morning. Nor the one after. Maybe in a year, if he was really really lucky or so the boy secretly wished. With plans in place to learn alchemy and improve martially, standard cultivation was all that was left.

As his uncle had mentioned, this Assessor should act as a teacher of sorts and be able to guide Myrkas in the next steps on the progress ladder. Once again, the boy only needed to figure out how. No way would he go back to beg for help without trying a few things first. He figured it out once— *cough* Satine did *cough*—he would do it anew. Without any ruminant saliva needed.

"Help," the boy first tried, without success. Same went for "Assessor, guide me," "Oh great one, bestow your wisdom upon this fool searching for light," and "What's up next, dude?"

That would have been too easy, of course.

With some reluctance, Myrkas decided to follow Satine's example, not by biting the pendant but by trying to press on the edge. Perpendicular to the first two, two new parts depressed inside. A soft click sounded, runes twirled again, and the shining words changed to Myrkas' delight.

[Guiding mode initiated, please indicate preferred focus.]

Myrkas let out a very manly, high-pitched "squeak" in his excitement. Thankfully, only fluffy beings were close enough to hear him, and none of them would ever be able to tell the tale.

It was time. On to the next step in defying the Heavens!