AI: Artificial Isekai

Ren unsheathes the sparring sword he picked up for himself, getting ready to give me the fight of my life.

I unsheathe my own sparring shortsword and then shake my head at him. "Use a real weapon. I don't get hurt as easy."

He hesitates at my request but quickly remembers the purpose of our mock fight. A blade materializes in his right hand, replacing the one he held. My vision inadvertently focuses on the weapon. I feel my mind grind to a halt. My body attempts to step back, to run as far away from the honed edge of the dark gray sword. An image flashes inside my seized mind. A flare of tempering flashes through my terrified body. The sword is just a sword again.

Ren tries to conceal it, but my rapid recovery tugs at his lips. Then the potential smile turns into a frown. "You are absolutely positive I won't be able to really wound you, kiddo."

"Not unless you employ mental or spatial magic, no."

"Spellcasting like that ain't my style," Ren says. He tries to appear cheerful, but the emotion is strained. "Whenever you're ready."

I warp behind him, my sword already next to his neck. My blade meets another. A line passes through my torso at an angle, cutting me into two.

The two halves warp away again, mending immediately.

Ren attempts to catch me, but another near instant warp does not let him. He blurs to my new destination, only for the process to repeat. The only difference, he has to contend with a supersonic needle aimed at a non-vital target.

His blade is positioned to intercept the projectile. The needle curves. The blade has already repositioned. The needle shatters against the gray steel, leaving not a single mark. The shards of metal flow around his weapon and impact his form. The pieces of my unsuccessfully blocked spell hit him in the abdomen, cutting into his clothes and striking his body. The shards leave red streaks on his skin. The streaks don't seem to seep vital liquid, though, but do glow with malevolent deep crimson.

The hall master does not have time to examine the potential damage he's suffered, as a dozen more needles are launched at him.

He disappears from sight, dashing for my location again. The needles don't have eyes, so they easily find him. There's no blocking this time. A devastating stroke erases my magic from existence. Unfortunately for him, right as he was initiating that attack, another dozen needles were already heading for his back.

Ren follows through his stroke, trying to twist in place and parry again. He succeeds. After twenty-seven such assaults, he suffers his first failure. A singular needle slips through, finding the right side of his chest. It embeds a few millimeters in his skin and detonates into shrapnel. More malevolent mana wafts from the shallow wound. The stealth spell is deemed useless and disengaged, letting him access a bit more power.

The fighter dodges the next barrage and explodes toward me, finally showing his maximum speed. I warp away, only to appear in the path of his sword. Still too slow. Another warp puts me somewhere else. But the sword is also closer.

Each successive warp slowly shrinks the distance between me and the edge. There's magic being used here, but I am transpositioning too fast. I can't glean its nature like this.

The next warp, I let his sword pass through my head. He makes two more lightning-fast strokes, butchering my poor shell, but leaving me enough time to study his magic. Still active even after his attack hit.

I warp away, appearing with a brand-new shell ready. Another shell appears on the opposite side of the dungeon. Ren picks me again.

The process repeats, populating the dungeon with a hundred identical shells. I'm still the only one in his eyes. Flattering.

Another warp, another stroke, another shell. His sword digs into my personal shield, then bites into the Knight's superalloy armor, but its momentum is slowed enough that it doesn't go through. A metal fist that was already streaking for his head hits with a crumpling whack. Ren kicks at my metal chest before I can make a second strike. There's a small cut on his face, trickling bright red. And overpowering deep crimson.

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

I don't give him time to recover. Needles fly from every direction. None of them hit, his sword blurring in a flurry of dispatching strikes. One of those strikes hits something that is not a needle. The metal sphere separates into two and explodes into deadly fragments, all targeting non-vital areas again.

Ren braces, taking the hits with a grunt. Small cuts in his clothes are accentuated by red. A malevolent aura clings to his form. He does not get much time to even reel from the explosive attack, having to defend against an unceasing barrage.

I warp. There is no blade waiting for me. A large dart instantly takes form next to me. I pour power into the spell. Ren tries to reach me through a wave of Knights, easily cleaving them into pieces, but still delaying his approach.

The dart crackles with small arcs of electricity, and with a flick of my hand, I let it loose.

A bright streak connects our two positions. His already raised sword finds my projectile. The dart shreds itself against the blade. But what remained of it takes a chunk of skin and muscle out of Ren's side. The damage is not enough to incapacitate. The blood that spills out of the wound, and all the other red marring his body, is another story.

I don't make any more moves, waiting for a dragging millisecond. My decision made, I raise my hand, my lingering magic instantly dispelling, taking the malevolent crimson with it. Ren's body relaxes at the occurrence.

Warping next to him, my hands start to glow a soft green, focused on the largest wound. Meanwhile, the ruined Knight drones are reclaimed, cleaning up the scene.

"Fuck," Ren tiredly sighs out. "You really know how to get my blood pumping, kiddo." He sits down on the ground, resting his sword to his side. I follow his movement, careful not to disrupt my healing.

"Are you okay? Should you use a healing potion?" I ask with concern. That last spell was too much...

He waves me off, sighing again, my healing magic taking away the pain. "I'm fine. Can't believe how rusty I've gotten, though." He scratches the back of his head with some embarrassment.

The bleeding now fully stopped, I finally feel relief, with only superficial damage left to take care of. "Rusty? Anyone else would be dead. Multiple times."

Ren laughs, the boisterous sound echoing around the cavern. "Maybe. You did well. More than well. I think I underestimated you, kiddo. How's your supply?"

"Significantly reduced, but not bottomed out yet," I say, sitting down in front of him, my healing completed.

He nods a few times. "Your spells have gotten stronger. Much stronger. Was that the debuff you've been incorporating?" I affirm. Ren looks down, regarding his blood-soaked clothes. "Anti-healing... And it also has an exsanguinating effect, doesn't it?" I affirm again. "You've been working even harder than I thought."

"Oh... Thank you."

Ren claps my shoulder a few times. "I would have still won, right?"

"The risk was close to unacceptable. Continuing the fight would have been inadvisable. But yes, you would have mostly likely won a prolonged engagement, even if I went for lethal attacks."

The only moderately fatigued hall master hums. "Maybe." He slaps his knees and stands up. "Got any clothes for me? Ania will kill us both if she sees me like this." A neat stack of garments, identical to the ones he is wearing—but intact—appear next to him. "Thank you, Lucius."

I turn around, giving him his privacy. Ren tears off his shredded attire and casts a clean spell to remove the drying blood.

"How was my performance?" I ask when he is done, turning to face him again.

"Why didn't you use your sword?"

"My skills with it are still not enough to match yours. Spellcasting was the optimal approach."

Ren nods approvingly. "We'll work on that." He stares into my eyes, contemplating his response. "You're ready for B-grade. But not A. Not yet, at least."

"I understand."

"Assessment time, kiddo," Ren says. My lips thin into a line. "All that warping around,"—he motions around the cavern—"you can't rely on it. But you know that already. Tempering is acceptable. That strike rang me good. Swordsmanship—obviously needs more work. Your spellcasting is your strongest weapon, but that leaves you vulnerable. Don't neglect the other one." I nod resolutely. "Battle tactics... It felt like I was fighting someone that could read every one of my moves. 'Relentless' is what I would use if I wanted to be polite. 'A thorn in my side' is what you get though." He chuckles, the softer sound still reverberating quite loudly.

Ren then goes over the fight moment by moment, analyzing my performance in as much detail as he can. And with the time spent doing that, contributing to the validity of our cover story. When we are done, we walk out of the training arena dungeon and return to the Hall.

I make sure to swing by the counter, collecting my promised mission and showing Attendant Ania that I am entirely unhurt. The other shells don't count.

Then I join the loungers, sharing my semi-manufactured escapades in principalities aplenty.

On my way out, a final glance is given to the welcoming banner. I smile all the way home, trying to ignore the cold hand digging into my mind.