Wolfgang's vice-like hands didn't budge. The faint, synchronized pulses of light and his oppressive questioning pressed down on Erika, threatening to suffocate him.
Then, without warning, the massive black metal door behind them let out a low, sigh-like hum and slid inward, revealing a crack.
A wave of warm, thick energy washed over them, starkly contrasting the corridor's chill. Light, not the common gold of the Sanctum but a deeper, almost incandescent white, spilled from the opening.
Two figures emerged, one after the other.
The first was an exceptionally tall female Cleric. Her pure white vestments hung with severe crispness, edged with dark gold thread in complex geometric patterns. Her face, carved from ice, showed no expression. Pale eyes swept over Wolfgang and the boy he held, registering no curiosity or surprise, as if glancing over stones.
Following her was a short, wiry male Cleric, his robes worn with a careless air. A smile perpetually calculating something played on his lips. He moved with an unnerving, fluid agility, almost slithering across the floor to come nearer. His gaze darted over Erika first, then settled on Wolfgang's hand, still clamped on the boy's shoulder.
"Well, well, our esteemed Instructor," the shorter man, Kaelen, drawled, his voice slick. "Frightening children again? This place is dank. Wouldn't want our little fledgling to catch a chill." His eyes, however, hooked into Erika, trying to scrape information from his face.
The muscles in Wolfgang's jaw tightened. He snorted in disdain but finally released Erika's shoulder, his body shifting almost imperceptibly to shield the boy behind his larger frame. "Mind your tongue, Kaelen. Did she not teach you any manners?" His gaze went over Kaelen's head to the tall woman who had stopped a few paces away, her back to them.
Kaelen shrugged, unbothered, and leaned closer to peer at Erika. "Strange, so strange. This is no place for basic lessons… Wolfgang, since when did you develop a taste for personally… tutoring boys? Is this your new training method?" The insinuation was crude and venomous.
Even the silent, tall Cleric's shoulders shifted a barely perceptible fraction, as if nudged by the poor joke, but she didn't turn. She merely raised a hand, gesturing slightly for Kaelen to follow, and continued walking, disappearing around the corridor's bend.
Kaelen chuckled, shot Erika another look that seemed to appraise an interesting piece of goods, then twisted his body to hurry after her.
"…Vermin," Wolfgang muttered under his breath, as if dismissing them. He turned back to the now-open black door and jerked his head at Erika. "Inside. With me."
The sight beyond the door stole Erika's breath.
It defied any imagination of a "training ground." No icons, no pulpits, no open spaces. Before him stretched a vast, deeply vaulted chamber immersed in near-total darkness. Only the walls, floor, and ceiling were inlaid with countless energy conduits flowing with a dim golden light. They pulsed like the veins of a living thing, tracing the architecture's outlines, providing the sole illumination.
The space was divided into countless individual "cells." Each was like a miniature, square, black box, walls of some opaque material with only a small crystalline window at eye-level, hinting at seated figures within. At the center of each "box," embedded in the floor, a smaller, slowly rotating model of the "Eternal Circuit" emitted a soft but steady energy field.
The air thrummed with the low hum of countless converging energy streams and a palpable, tightly suppressed tension born of extreme mental focus. Along the walls stood complex devices of crystal and metal he couldn't begin to comprehend, alongside bookshelves holding ancient, heavy-toned volumes with titles in scripts and symbols he didn't recognize.
"Ignore the nonsense at the door," Wolfgang's voice cut clearly through the spacious quiet. He wasn't looking at Erika, his eyes scanning the training cells. "The Mark on your arm… it's a good thing. It means your body is now ready to formally receive and bear the energy of the Law. I don't know how you got it, but… it's a first step."
He paused, then explained, "Those who study in the priory are all 'Acolytes.' But only here," he pointed at the black boxes, "only those who successfully condense three or more Marks gain the right to be called true Clerics."
A cold weight settled in Erika's stomach.
"Until you possess three Marks, you cannot leave the priory," Wolfgang's tone was flat, brooking no argument. "See the old man sweeping at the gate? He was once a student here too."
Erika recalled the elderly man, day after day, silently sweeping fallen leaves, his eyes hollow. A chill crept up his spine.
"As for how to cultivate, the books are over there. Figure it out yourself. Tomorrow's lesson will cover some basics." Wolfgang finally looked at him, his expression complex, as if he wanted to say more, but only waved a hand dismissively. "Remember, don't be late tomorrow. For now, go in and… play." He emphasized the word. "And don't disturb anyone."
With that, he turned his back on Erika, strode deeper into the hall, pushed open the dark door of an empty cell, and disappeared inside. The door shut without a sound.
Erika was alone. Standing in this strange space of darkness, golden light, countless secrets, and heavy rules. The whisper of energy seemed to echo directly in his mind. The Mark on his left hand warmed faintly, as if answering the chamber's call.
He took a deep breath of the metal-and-energy-charged air and stepped forward, beginning his exploration of this Mark-Forging Hall—the place that would decide his fate and, perhaps, hide the truths of this world.
Following Wolfgang's vague direction, Erika found a beginner's manual titled The Neophyte and the Circuit of Law in the small archive and claimed a training cell near the entrance, officially beginning his first fumbling attempts at cultivation.
The cell's black walls seemed to absorb all extraneous sound, isolating him in a personal cosmos. Seated cross-legged before the slowly rotating miniature Circuit, the book open on his knees, he tried to empty his mind, sinking his awareness inward.
At first, only chaotic darkness. But soon, a strange perception clarified—he could feel a thread-like, almost illusory stream of energy separating from the Circuit beneath him. Like a guided rivulet, it followed the most basic path described in the book, flowing slowly into his left arm and finally pooling into the golden Mark.
It was an unprecedented sensation. Where the energy passed, it wasn't a physical touch, but a… fullness of being. Parched earth receiving sweet rain. A cold shell filling with warmth. He could clearly feel the Mark, once just a pattern on his skin, warming slightly. A small, intangible space within it seemed to be gradually filling.
As the energy continued to channel, his weary mind felt cleansed, becoming clear and focused. The previously vague whispers of ambient energy in the air grew slightly more distinct. Though he still couldn't understand them, he could now distinguish their different "tones." He even sensed some internal shackle within his body loosening, just a fraction—minute, but a real, tangible feeling of growing stronger.
The novelty and power of the experience intoxicated him. He continued reading, trying to guide more energy, to construct more complex flows. It went smoothly at first; he felt his control over the energy slowly improving.
But it was like pouring water into a cup of fixed capacity. When the "fullness" from the Mark reached a certain threshold, no matter how he concentrated or applied the methods in the book, he couldn't draw in another shred of energy. The invisible "cup" was full. Forcing it only made the energy stream turbulent, bringing a sharp, mental discomfort.
Erika understood what Wolfgang meant by "play." He had the qualification to absorb energy, but lacked the knowledge system for its subsequent transformation, storage, and application—like a child given the scabbard of a divine weapon, but not the blade itself.
He stopped forcing it, slowly dispersing his guiding intent, letting the energy flow from the Circuit below return to calm. He let out a long breath, a mix of excitement, satisfaction, and lingering anticipation coloring his mood as he prepared to end this session.
Just as his eyes opened, adjusting to the dim golden light—
A rugged, stubble-covered face was inches from his own. Wolfgang's hawk-like eyes stared back, unblinking.
"Gah!" Erika jolted, his heart hammering, nearly leaping out of his skin. The instinctive reaction stripped away some of his usual numbness and suppression, revealing a flash of the panic befitting his age.
Wolfgang seemed pleased by this reaction, the corner of his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly. "Awake? Perfect timing!" Before the words fully landed, a large hand clamped onto Erika's arm like an iron vise, the tremendous force nearly lifting him off the floor.
"Wai—!"
There was no time for questions. Wolfgang was already storming out of the cell, dragging Erika behind him like a hurricane through the labyrinthine corridors. Wind whistled past Erika's ears, the black walls and golden streams a blur.
BANG!
Wolfgang kicked open the Indoctrination Hall's heavy doors, his voice booming with a deliberately forced vigor.
"Morning, boys! Looks like you all—"
His voice cut off abruptly.
Erika stumbled to a halt, following Wolfgang's gaze into the classroom. The grey cushions, which should have been filled, were now conspicuously, overwhelmingly empty! The number of absentees far exceeded any normal range. The hall felt cavernous and cold, occupied by only a dozen or so students, most looking down nervously. Even the usually boisterous city-born youths were gone.
The faint "vigor" on Wolfgang's face instantly froze solid, replaced by a heavy, penetrating scrutiny. He released Erika's arm, his eyes sweeping over the vacant spots, sharp as blades.
A suffocating silence filled the room.
Those missing students… where had they gone?