Erika's gaze, drawn as if by a magnet, was fixed on the newly forged Mark upon Wolfgang's chest. It still pulsed with a faint heat and a deep, resonant golden light. Its intricate structure seemed to hold boundless mysteries and power, making him forget everything else for a moment.
It was only in this intense focus that he belatedly realized Wolfgang was shirtless.
The bronze skin, aside from the dazzling Mark, was a canvas of scars. Long, narrow slashes from blades. Twisted, puckered tissue from energy burns. Terrible, healed-over gouges from what could only be massive claws or fangs. These scars silently narrated countless perilous battles and brushes with death. They layered over his usual stern Instructor's persona, radiating the raw, savage gravitas of a warrior who simply refused to die. Sweat traced the lines of his solid muscles, adding a roughness born of recently expended, monumental power.
It was Wolfgang who shattered the suffocating silence first.
His breathing had evened slightly, but his voice was still hoarse and heavy with exhaustion. Each word seemed dredged from the very depths of his soul. He lifted his gaze. The look in his eyes was no longer just his usual cold scrutiny. It was tinged with something profoundly complex, something rarely seen on his face—a candid, crushing weight.
"I…" He paused, the word seemingly foreign to his tongue, but he finished it clearly. "...owe you."
No embellishment. No effusive gratitude. Just three short words.
Erika snapped out of his stupor, tearing his eyes from the glowing Mark to meet Wolfgang's gaze. His mouth opened, but his throat was dry. He had no idea how to respond. He could feel it—the invisible, towering wall between them, built of hierarchy and secrets, had just developed a hairline crack.
Silence fell again. But this silence was different from the tense unknown of before. It was heavy with the unspoken weight of a promise.
The only sound was the faint, residual hum of energy, like a fading echo of the turmoil they had just survived.
Erika was still reeling from the impact of Wolfgang's heavy "I owe you," when a voice, dripping with exaggerated, theatrical astonishment, shattered the room's gravity.
"Oh—ho—!"
Kaelen, the shorter priest, was leaning lazily against the doorframe. His arms were crossed, and a shit-eating grin plastered his face—the look of a man who had just uncovered a scandalous, juicy secret. His eyes danced between the shirtless, sweat-sheened, freshly-ascended Wolfgang, and the pale, slightly dazed Erika standing intimately close.
Kaelen let out a deliberately drawn-out whistle. "Well now… seems I've arrived at a most inopportune time?" He winked, the insinuation thick and greasy in his tone. "Tsk, tsk. I knew there was something… particular about you two."
Wolfgang did not flush. He did not snap. The silence that fell over him wasn't born of embarrassment; it was the absolute, suffocating stillness of a man staring down the barrel of an executioner's gun.
The air in the contemplation cell plunged to a freezing temperature. Wolfgang didn't even spare a fraction of a glance at the mocking priest in the doorway. Instead, his golden eyes locked onto Erika with a sudden, terrifying urgency—a desperate intensity that made Erika's breath catch in his throat.
"Watch closely, boy."
Wolfgang's voice was absolute ice. It wasn't a rebuke to Kaelen; it was a mandate to Erika. A final, desperate transmission of knowledge. "Your first lesson."
Without any visible motion—no raised hand, no glowing seal, just a flicker of sheer, murderous intent—
HUM!
An invisible, mountain-heavy pressure instantly crushed the air inside the cell. The atmosphere turned viscous. The light itself seemed to warp and groan under the weight. Erika's pupils contracted. He saw it clearly through his unique perception: the space around Kaelen at the doorway was physically solidifying. A force of pure will, invisible to the naked eye but appearing in Erika's energy sense as translucent, resilient golden crystal, clamped violently down around the priest.
"Hey, hey! Old Wolf! You're serious?!" The mockery on Kaelen's face vanished, replaced by genuine alarm. He struggled, finding himself encased as if poured in solid steel, unable to twitch a single finger.
Wolfgang's expression didn't change. His clasped hands didn't even separate. He simply made a faint, gripping motion with his mind.
"Gah!" Kaelen let out a strangled yelp as the invisible force ripped him clean off his feet, suspending him mid-air like a helpless puppet on unseen strings.
"This is one of the most crucial abilities of a cleric," Wolfgang's voice remained unnervingly calm, as if this logic-defying display of violence was a mundane chalkboard tutorial. "The 'Mind-Blade'."
He manipulated the intangible force, swinging Kaelen violently from side to side. The motions seemed casual, but they spoke of breathtaking, terrifying control. Kaelen dangled in the air like a grotesque wind chime, offering entirely unconvincing cries of "Aiee!" while managing to yell, "See that, kid?! This is what happens if you don't train hard! The Old Wolf'll use you as a teaching prop! Wheee!"
Wolfgang ignored the antics completely. His focus on Erika was absolute, burning with the intensity of a dying sun delivering holy writ. "It is not a physical weapon. It is our will, our faith, our mental power, highly concentrated. An extension of the Divine Will, made manifest as the God's Blade."
As he spoke, Erika could sense the "Mind-Blade" holding Kaelen shift minutely. It grew denser. Its invisible edges seemed to gleam with a sharpness that felt capable of severing a soul from its body.
"Every cleric who possesses multiple Marks," Wolfgang continued, ensuring Erika understood the bloody gravity of each syllable, "will eventually awaken their own unique Mind-Blade ability. It stems from your essence. Your conviction. It is the most unique signature on your path of power."
To demonstrate, he manipulated the Blade, sending Kaelen into a ludicrous, physics-defying 720-degree spin in mid-air. It elicited a stream of garbled protests and dizzy pleas for mercy.
"Within the Sanctum's hierarchy, forging three or more Marks grants one the title of 'Cleric'." Wolfgang's voice turned incredibly cold, laced with the harsh reality of an impending doom. "But it is only when you truly master the 'Mind-Blade', and can wield it to this extent—turning pure will into tangible, crushing force—that you have a chance…"
He paused. Kaelen, still spinning dizzily, chimed in with a theatrical, tearful wail, "…a chance… to stand your ground! Aiyaaa… standing your ground is important, kid! See?! No power, and you get… like this! Stand! You gotta stand!"
The absurd, yet horrifyingly convincing spectacle left Erika dumbfounded. His heart raced. This was completely beyond his previous understanding of "power." This wasn't mere energy projection; this was the true manipulation of reality by thought alone. A symbol of absolute authority.
Wolfgang seemed to deem the demonstration sufficient. His lethal intent relaxed.
Thump! Kaelen landed in an undignified heap on the floor. He groaned, rubbing his backside and muttering about "abusing authority" and "that petty Old Wolf." Yet, his eyes held no real anger—only a flicker of genuine, hidden awe at Wolfgang's terrifying control so soon after a breakthrough.
Wolfgang paid him no mind. His gaze returned to Erika, as deep and dark as an abyss.
"What you just witnessed," Wolfgang said slowly, his tone a heavy, final warning, "was merely a fraction of my capability."
The words hit Erika like a physical blow. Such power, and only a fraction? What would a fully unleashed Mind-Blade look like?
"Do not aspire to run before you can walk." Wolfgang seemed to read his thoughts, his voice iron-clad. "The foundation of the Mind-Blade is not some nebulous mental power. It is the vessel that carries it all—your body!"
He gestured to his own heavily scarred, muscular torso. To the newly forged Mark still emitting a faint, warning glow.
"The Marks are the conduits of energy. But your flesh is the foundation. It houses the Marks, transforms the energy, and supports the will. The mightier the Mind-Blade, the vaster the energy, the greater the catastrophic strain on the flesh." Wolfgang stepped closer, his presence suffocating. "Without a sufficiently resilient physique, attempting to wield power beyond your limits has only one outcome."
He didn't finish, but the cold look in his eyes said it all. Self-destruction. Being consumed alive by the very power you sought to command.
"A powerful body can contain more energy, sustain a sturdier will. It allows you to survive the path of forging more Marks." Wolfgang stared down at Erika, enunciating each word as if branding it directly onto the boy's soul. "Temper your body. Solidify your foundation. This, at your current stage, is the only thing you need to do, and must do well."
The contemplation cell fell quiet once more.
Kaelen had gotten to his feet, dusting off his robes. His usual smirk was entirely absent now. He was watching Erika with an intensely complicated expression.
Erika stood rooted to the spot, his mind ringing like a struck bell. Wolfgang's heavy words, Kaelen's undignified aerial lesson, the intangible yet terrifying power of the "Mind-Blade," the scars that spoke of both power and agony… it all wove together into a stark, brutally clear map of power.
All of his previous confusion, his fear, his sense of being a cornered rat—it all suddenly found a direction. Immensely clear, yet dauntingly difficult.
Power was not unattainable. But it had strict, non-negotiable, blood-soaked rules of entry. And his very first lesson was to learn how to forge the vessel capable of bearing it without shattering.
Looking up at Wolfgang, Erika understood with sudden, chilling clarity: the man before him was not just an Instructor. He was a towering mountain, holding endless power and lethal knowledge.
And Erika had only just arrived at the very foot of the slope.