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Seven more days passed.
During those seven days, Lancelot lived an unhurried life with Raven. By day, they frequented high-end venues, spending lavishly without restraint. At night, they rested in presidential suites.
With the full support of the CIA, Lancelot indulged freely in life in the capital.
Raven, too, quickly adapted to the luxury of high society. She followed Lancelot to exclusive private receptions and elite parties, and gradually developed a fondness for games—something that made Lancelot keenly aware of the pleasure of having Raven by his side.
"Don't move. Hand over the money."
One day, while strolling together, Lancelot and Raven were stopped by a group of blind-eyed thugs.
A dreadlocked Black man raised a gun and shouted arrogantly at Lancelot.
The others, however, stared only at Raven's blue skin and Lancelot's expensive, elegant robes. To them, Raven was nothing more than a rich man's plaything. No one imagined she was a mutant.
In this era—before mutants were widely known—even top-tier elites had no concept of their existence unless they had seen one with their own eyes.
"Kid, put the gun down," Lancelot said calmly, his voice cold.
A crimson bird flew from Lancelot's eyes.
The dozen thugs before him instantly fell under the control of his Geass.
Clatter.
All of them dropped their guns to the ground, then returned to normal.
"Huh? What just happened? Why did I drop my gun?"
Joseph muttered in confusion, staring at the pistol on the ground.
The others were the same—confused, yet none of them thought to pick their weapons back up.
"Raven, take care of it," Lancelot said flatly.
"Yes, my king."
Raven nodded, shifting her stance and lowering her center of gravity.
Over the past few days, Lancelot had personally trained Raven whenever he had time.
Her flexibility already exceeded human limits, and her reaction speed was terrifyingly fast. With proper guidance, she could become a true combat master.
Though Lancelot knew little about conventional combat, that didn't stop him from teaching Raven how to weaponize her mutation.
Just like now.
Raven clenched her right fist. Blue scales rippled along her arm like waves, and her limb expanded into a thick, muscular arm—
The arm of a heavyweight boxer from Virginia.
At full output, it could deliver over 800 kilograms of force.
Whoosh.
Raven appeared directly in front of Joseph. Her massive right arm slammed into him.
Boom.
The 1.9-meter-tall man was sent flying several meters.
In the same instant, Raven's arm returned to normal, while her legs transformed into those of a 100-meter sprint champion as she charged into the group.
Her body moved like a serpent—fluid, precise, beautiful. Despite her slender frame, her reaction speed allowed her to evade every attack. Her hands continuously shifted, adopting the bone and muscle structure of elite boxers.
Each punch sent a thug crashing to the ground like a sandbag.
"Not bad. Thirteen seconds eighty-six," Lancelot said, stopping his timer.
"Three seconds faster than last time."
"Thank you, my lord. It's all thanks to your guidance," Raven replied, smiling with pride.
Before this, Raven had never seriously considered how to develop her shapeshifting beyond appearances. Even Professor X had never truly explored the depth of her potential.
Only after following Lancelot did she realize how limitless her power truly was.
The first thing Lancelot taught her was mimetic transformation—
shaping parts of her body into the most optimal human limbs to gain their strength, speed, and reflexes.
The second lesson was adaptive mutation, also called alienated transformation—
using her ability to convert parts or all of her body into specialized mutant forms to gain entirely new traits.
That level required sustained control, and for now, Raven could only perform advanced mimicry.
Lancelot also proposed further refinements—reducing body mass for speed, increasing muscle density for defense.
Raven's mutation had infinite possibilities.
If a pure human like Kingpin could train his body to rival Spider-Man, then Raven—who could freely alter her biology—should be capable of far more.
In Lancelot's vision, Raven might one day possess a physique comparable to Captain America's—explosive power, rapid recovery, absolute control.
"At that level," Lancelot thought, "she would be a true Level Five mutant."
"But that will take time."
With one arm around Raven, Lancelot stepped over the fallen thugs without looking back.
Humans were like infants.
I didn't order them to kill themselves—that is my mercy.
Why would I care about the screams of human infants?
"My lord, the mutants have been assembled."
A respectful voice called out as Lancelot exited the alley.
Several CIA agents in black suits and sunglasses stood beside his supercar.
"So it's finally done?"
Lancelot smiled faintly.
"Come, Raven. It's time to return—and reunite with our mutant companions."