Chapter 20: The Asura’s Crucible and the Meat Shield

The silence in the private nursing room was heavy enough to choke on.

Aegon Logcheville sat in the visitor’s chair, staring a hole into the pristine white floor tiles.

His fists were still trembling, the residual adrenaline from his near-death encounter in the hallway slowly bleeding out of his system.

From her hospital bed, Estella slurped loudly from a small juice box. She looked at the brooding spearman with deadpan violet eyes.

"Are you going to cry?" Estella asked bluntly.

"Because if you cry, you have to mop the floor. Draven just cleaned it."

Aegon blinked, completely derailed by the tiny, silver-haired girl treating his existential crisis like a mild inconvenience.

Draven let out a short, quiet breath of amusement and tossed a fresh towel onto Aegon’s lap.

"Wipe the sweat off, Aegon. And start talking. You just asked me to teach you how to beat the Golden Boy. Why?"

Aegon gripped the towel. The crimson intensity in his eyes was clouded by years of deep, suffocating humiliation.

"Because I am supposed to be his equal," Aegon said, his voice raw.

"Do you know how Bastion Seven works, Mordis? The military and the government are just the face. The real power belongs to the Four Great Houses. They run the biggest Guilds, control the economy, and dictate the laws. My mother is the head of House Logcheville. Reina’s mother leads House Vance. There’s House Hennessy and House Tokks."

Draven nodded slowly, piecing the geopolitical map together. "Go on."

"When Neville and I awakened our mana at ten years old, we were hailed as miracles," Aegon laughed, but it sounded like grinding glass.

"One in a million. The twin pillars of the next generation. Our families showered us with the most expensive treasures in the world. High-grade monster cores, elixirs that cost millions of credits a drop, spirit herbs... you name it, we drank it."

Aegon gripped the towel so hard his knuckles turned white.

"Neville absorbed it all. He became the Golden Boy. But my body? It just stopped. I hit a bottleneck at Level 10 and stagnated for years. The elixirs did nothing. The treasures did nothing. The medics called it a ’Mana Rejection Syndrome.’ I went from being the pride of my House to the city’s most expensive paperweight."

Draven watched him closely.

"And Neville left you behind."

"He didn’t just leave me behind," Aegon spat bitterly.

"He started treating me like a charity case. And the worst part? Reina."

Aegon’s voice cracked slightly, the arrogant facade completely washing away to reveal the broken teenager underneath.

"I’ve loved Reina since we were kids playing with wooden swords in her courtyard. But she never looked at me. She only ever looked at him. I had to watch the girl I loved obsess over the guy who replaced me. And today... I had to watch that same bastard leave her to be crushed by a monster just so he could score a few extra points."

Aegon looked up at Draven, his crimson eyes burning with a desperate, pleading hunger.

"I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care if it breaks me. I just want to wipe that arrogant, holy smile off his face. Teach me."

Draven didn’t answer immediately. He stared at Aegon, the gears in his mind turning rapidly.

’So this is how the Cult gets him in the original timeline,’ Draven thought.

’A desperate, discarded noble with a broken heart and a massive inferiority complex. The traitors in his own family probably hand him over to the Eclipse Cult, who offer him a dark, twisted way to get stronger.’

Draven also realized something else.

Today’s event in the forest had put him in a dangerous position. He had killed a high-level Cult Summoner.

If he went on to win the Freshman Tournament and become the Representative, he would be placed under a massive spotlight.

The Cult would investigate him. The Guilds would pry into his background.

’I need a shield,’ Draven calculated, a slow, predatory smirk touching his lips.

’A loud, flashy, heavily armored shield that the whole world can look at while I operate in the shadows.’

"System," Draven commanded in his mind.

"Use Tactical Appraisal on Aegon Logcheville. Deep scan."

A glowing blue interface materialized over Aegon’s head.

[Target Identified: Aegon Logcheville]

[Status: Severe Mana Congestion]

[Hidden Constitution: The Asura’s Devouring Crucible (Dormant)]

[Analysis: The Host’s body is a literal furnace of war. It does not passively absorb energy like normal Awakeners. It only digests fuel when the host experiences extreme, life-threatening combat stress. The millions of credits worth of elixirs he consumed are not wasted; they are currently congealed in his mana veins, clogging his system like unlit coal.]

Draven dismissed the screen. He couldn’t help it; he actually chuckled.

"What is so funny?" Aegon asked, bristling slightly.

"You," Draven said, stepping away from the wall and walking up to the spearman.

"The greatest medics in the city called you a failure. Your House thought you were a bad investment. But they were all just looking at a sports car and trying to fuel it with apple juice."

Aegon frowned in confusion.

"What are you talking about?"

"You don’t lack talent, Aegon," Draven stated flatly.

"Your constitution is just fundamentally incompatible with a pampered lifestyle. You have something called ’The Asura’s Devouring Crucible.’ Your body is a furnace, but it only burns when the flames of war are ignited."

Aegon stood up, his eyes wide. "A... Crucible?"

"All those elixirs you drank? They are still inside you, clogging your mana veins because your body refused to digest them while you were sitting in a safe, comfortable mansion," Draven explained, poking Aegon hard in the chest.

"You are literally bloated with unspent power. You don’t need a teacher, Aegon. You need a near-death experience."

Aegon staggered back, processing the weight of Draven’s words. If this was true... his entire life of humiliation had been a simple misdiagnosis. He wasn’t garbage. He was just unignited.

"I can fix it," Draven said, his voice dropping into a cold, business-like tone. "I can ignite the furnace. But I don’t work for free."

Aegon swallowed hard. "Name your price. Money? Guild resources? Artifacts? House Logcheville has-"

"I don’t want your mother’s money," Draven interrupted.

"I want you to take the crown."

Aegon paused. "What?"

"The Freshman Representative title," Draven said, walking over to the window and looking out at the Academy.

"If I take it, I become a target. I don’t like the spotlight. It’s bad for my health. So, here is the deal: I will train you. I will unlock your Crucible. I will teach you the exact tactical blind spot in Neville’s ’Divine Aura’ so you can shatter his sword in front of the entire Academy."

Draven turned back around, his dark eyes locking onto Aegon’s.

"In return, you win the tournament. You take the glory. You get your pride back, and you probably get the Valkyrie girl to finally look your way. But from that moment on, you are my Vanguard. You are the loud, shining Hero that stands in the light, and you draw all the attention, while I operate in the dark."

Aegon stared at him. The proposition was insane.

This "slum rat" was basically offering to hand him the throne of the Academy, purely so he could use Aegon as a meat shield.

But as Aegon thought about it, a vicious, bloodthirsty grin slowly spread across his face.

"You want me to be your shield?" Aegon asked, his crimson eyes flashing with absolute resolve.

"Fine. If you give me the power to crush Neville Hennesey into the dirt... I will gladly be your wall."

"Good," Draven smiled coldly.

Estella clapped her hands from the bed, having finished her juice box.

"Yay. A new subordinate. Does he know how to cook?"

"I am the heir to a Great House, I do not cook," Aegon said indignantly.

"Useless," Estella muttered, lying back down and pulling the blanket over her head.

Draven snorted. He walked over to the door and opened it.

"Go back to your room and rest, Aegon," Draven ordered.

"Meet me in the underground training hall at midnight."

Aegon nodded, a new, fiery energy returning to his steps.

"What are we doing at midnight? Sparing? Meditation? Form drills?"

"None of the above," Draven said, his smile turning dangerously sadistic.

"You need extreme combat stress to digest those elixirs. So, I am going to lock the doors, turn off the cameras, and beat you within an inch of your miserable life."

Aegon’s triumphant smile instantly vanished. He paled.

"Wait, what?"

"Bring bandages," Draven added pleasantly. "And maybe a bucket. Get out."

Draven closed the door on the stunned spearman, locking it with a satisfying click.

The gears were finally turning.

The "Hero" was going to fall, and the Extra was going to rewrite the rules of Bastion Seven.