Erika stood rooted to the spot, as if he had forgotten how to breathe. Wolfgang's icy words—"Watch closely, boy. Your first lesson."—echoed in his skull like a tolling bell. It didn't just reverberate; it violently wrenched open a crack in the iron door of his previously sealed fate.
First lesson… Not just another generic lecture in the Indoctrination Hall.
Before this, Wolfgang had been an inscrutable Instructor. A dangerous cleaner. The man who dragged him into the Holy Sanctum yet remained shrouded in lethal secrets. Between them lay a vast, unbridgeable chasm of rank—the predator and the prey, the watcher and the watched.
But what had just transpired shattered that dynamic entirely.
Wolfgang had bared his torso, exposing not just raw power, but a canvas of horrific battle scars. It was an act of vulnerability far beyond the ordinary. He had allowed Erika to intrude during his most critical moment, letting the boy witness the razor's edge between his failure and his weary triumph.
Most importantly, he had personally demonstrated the "Mind-Blade"—the true, hidden core of a high-tier cleric's power, something entirely absent from the basic Eternal Circuit Law. By naming it the "first lesson," the meaning of everything had fundamentally shifted.
He wasn't just teaching. He was… guiding.
A thought so audacious it made Erika's head spin pierced the suffocating gloom of his heart: Was Wolfgang—this terrifying, high-ranking cleric—actually taking him as a personal disciple?
Real, personal, brutal guidance. For Erika, who was currently drowning in a dark swamp with no way out, this was nothing less than a heavy, golden rope tossed down from the heavens.
His mind raced, desperately trying to justify grasping this dangerous lifeline. He forced himself to analyze the twisted logic of the Sanctum. Why did a greedy, life-devouring butcher like Balthasar thrive here? The Sanctum was not the radiant beacon of faith he had once imagined; it operated on a cold, bottomless, blood-soaked logic. Erika desperately convinced himself that Wolfgang had a bottom line. At the very least, this man didn't slaughter purely for petty desires like Balthasar. Today's brutal demonstration carried the weight of survival—a harsh responsibility.
"Only a powerful body can contain more energy… This is the only thing you must do well." The words stripped away all flashy illusions, pointing directly to the bloody, heavy foundation of true power.
Yet, even as he frantically rationalized this as his only chance, a crushing, suffocating sense of powerlessness washed over him.
What did it matter if he could guess at Wolfgang's motives or the Sanctum's political web? It was all meaningless. Like a reflection of the moon in a puddle of blood.
He was too weak. So agonizingly weak he couldn't even protect himself. A single, sweeping glance from Balthasar was enough to freeze his blood. A routine purge by the Tribunal could casually drown a nobody like him in a gutter. If he couldn't even survive the next wave, what use was he? How could he uncover the truth about Cecilia? How could he save Anna? What solace could he offer to the technical brother who had likely died for him?
Powerlessness. It seeped into the marrow of his bones. The glimpse of hope didn't erase the fear; it only magnified his own pathetic insignificance in the face of the towering mountain ahead.
Erika stood with his head bowed, his hands clenching into trembling fists. Two voices tore at his sanity. One screamed: Seize it! Grab the rope! It's your only way to survive! Don't hesitate! The other whispered with cold malice: What's the cost? Why you? Because of your unknown Mark? Because you saved him? Or because he simply needs to forge a sharper, more obedient blade for his own bloody ends? Step onto this path, and the Sanctum's whirlpool will swallow you whole.
A fine sheen of cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
Time seemed to freeze. Wolfgang said nothing. He simply stood there, his deep, raptor-like eyes locked onto Erika, waiting. He didn't push. He didn't rush. He knew exactly what the boy was going through. This was the threshold. Step over, and welcome to a new, brutal world. Step back, and rot in eternal obscurity.
By the door, Kaelen remained uncharacteristically quiet. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, a faint, amused smirk playing on his lips, watching the psychological slaughter unfold like front-row theater.
Finally, the primal instinct to survive—the stubborn, agonizing refusal to sink into oblivion and fail everyone he cared about—crushed the fear.
Erika's head snapped up. The confusion and terror in his eyes were burned away, replaced by the desperate, hollowed-out resolve of a cornered animal.
He looked Wolfgang dead in the eyes. He didn't drop to his knees in theatrical gratitude. He knew such gestures were garbage to a man like this. In an abnormally calm voice that seemed to scrape the very last ounce of strength from his lungs, Erika asked:
"Instructor. The 'first lesson' you spoke of… how do I begin?"
He didn't ask Why me? He didn't ask What is the price? He only asked how to begin. That simple question was a heavy, silent declaration. He accepted the rope. And he accepted whatever venom might be coating it.
Wolfgang looked into the boy's eyes, watching the dark fire ignite within them. The rigid, stone-like lines of his face softened by a millimeter. He didn't smile, but he gave a single, slight nod.
"Now." He uttered the word, his voice carrying the undeniable weight of an executioner's gavel. "From here, run back to your room. No use of energy. Your fastest speed. I will appear before you exactly three seconds after you arrive. If you are late…"
He left the threat hanging. The physical pressure in the room descended like a collapsing ceiling.
Erika's pupils contracted. Without a single fraction of a second's hesitation, he spun on his heel and launched himself down the corridor toward the dormitories like a hunted predator, sprinting with absolutely everything he had.
His figure swiftly vanished into the shadows of the hall.
In the contemplation cell, Wolfgang slowly straightened up, rolling his aching, heavily scarred shoulders. The second Mark on his chest had drawn its brilliant light inward, appearing even more profound and dangerous.
Kaelen whistled lazily, breaking the silence. "Well, well, Old Wolf. Starting to 'dote' on your little disciple already? Couldn't wait to break him, could you?"
Wolfgang ignored the bait completely. His golden eyes remained fixed on the empty corridor where Erika had disappeared. His expression was an inscrutable, chilling mask.
He murmured to himself, so softly only he could hear: "The weight is on you now, boy... Let's see if you become a blade, or just another bleeding stone."
Far down the echoing halls, Erika heard nothing but the violent whistling of the wind in his ears and the frantic, hammering rhythm of his own heart. He didn't know what waited for him at the end of this run—hellish physical torture, or a conspiracy deeper than the abyss.
He only knew that from the moment he asked that question, he had stepped off the precipice. There was no turning back. He was running straight into the heart of the storm.