Erika's gaze, drawn as if by a magnet, was fixed on the newly forged Mark upon Wolfgang's chest, which still pulsed with 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 marks from energy burns, and a few that looked like terrible, healed-over rents from some massive claw or fang. These scars silently narrated countless perilous battles and brushes with death this man had survived, layering over his usual stern Instructor's persona with a more impactful, raw sense of a warrior's savagery and gravitas. Sweat traced the lines of his solid muscles, adding a roughness born of recently expended 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 seemingly dredged from the depths of his being.
He lifted his gaze. The depth there was no longer just scrutiny, but tinged with something profoundly complex and rarely seen on his face—a candid, weighty…
"I…" He paused, as if the word was foreign to him, but finished clearly, "...owe you."
No embellishment. No effusive gratitude. Just four short words. Yet, coming from a man of Wolfgang's standing and disposition, their weight far surpassed a thousand flowery thanks. It wasn't just gratitude for a circuit; it was recognition of Erika's correct judgment and action in that life-or-death moment. A blunt acknowledgment of a debt incurred.
Erika snapped out of his stupor, tearing his eyes from the Mark and the scars to meet Wolfgang's gaze. His mouth opened, but his throat was dry, unsure how to respond. He could feel it—the invisible wall between them, built of status and secrets, had developed a fine crack.
Silence fell again, but this silence was different from the previous, tense unknown. It was filled with the weight of a promise. The path ahead was still shrouded in mist, but something fundamental had shifted.
The only sound was the faint, residual hum of energy, like the fading echo of the turmoil within them both.
Erika was still reeling from the impact of Wolfgang's heavy "I owe you" and the subtle shift in their dynamic, when a voice dripping with exaggerated astonishment shattered the room's gravity.
"Oh—ho—!"
Kaelen, the shorter priest, was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, a grin on his face that screamed he'd uncovered a scandalous secret. His eyes danced between the shirtless, sweat-sheened, freshly-ascended Wolfgang and the pale, slightly dazed Erika standing nearby, before settling on Wolfgang with a deliberately drawn-out, "Well now… seems I've arrived at a most inopportune time?" He winked, the insinuation thick in his tone. "Tsk, tsk. Knew there was something… particular about you two."
Wolfgang's face darkened instantly, the rigid lines of his jaw hardening to stone. The post-breakthrough weakness seemed forcibly suppressed by a wave of sudden fury and acute embarrassment. A presence more refined and dangerous than before emanated from him. He didn't even look at Kaelen, instead turning his razor-sharp gaze back to Erika, as if to sever the brief moment of rapport.
"Watch closely, boy." Wolfgang's voice was ice, wielding an unquestionable authority, seemingly to dispel Kaelen's irreverence and re-establish the Instructor-novice dynamic. "Your first lesson."
Without any visible motion—no raised hand, no seal—just a flicker of intent—
HUM!
An invisible, mountain-heavy pressure instantly filled the contemplation cell! The air turned viscous, the light itself seeming to warp.
Erika's pupils contracted. He saw it clearly—not with his eyes, but with his unique perception—the space around Kaelen in the doorway solidify. A force of pure will and mental power, invisible to the naked eye but appearing in his energy sense as translucent, golden, resilient crystal, clamped down around him!
"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 in poured steel, unable to move a finger.
Wolfgang's expression didn't change. His clasped hands didn't even separate. He simply made a faint, grasping motion.
"Gah!" Kaelen let out a strangled yelp as the invisible force lifted him clean off his feet, suspending him mid-air like a puppet on unseen strings.
"This is one of the most crucial abilities of a cleric," Wolfgang's voice was unnervingly calm, as if this defied-all-logic display was a simple tutorial. "The 'Mind-Blade'."
He manipulated the intangible force, swinging Kaelen side to side a few times. The motions seemed casual, but spoke of breathtakingly precise control. Kaelen dangled in the air like a wind chime, offering 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 his antics completely, his focus on Erika serious and absolute, as if delivering holy writ. "It is not a physical weapon, but 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, growing denser, its edges seeming to gleam with an intangible sharpness that felt capable of severing souls.
"Every cleric who possesses multiple Marks," Wolfgang continued, his gaze burning into Erika, ensuring he understood the gravity of each word, "will, as their understanding of power deepens and their path clarifies, eventually awaken their own unique Mind-Blade ability. It stems from your essence, your conviction, the nature of your Marks. 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, eliciting a stream of garbled protests and pleas for mercy.
"Though, within the Sanctum's hierarchy, successfully forging three or more Marks grants one the title of 'Cleric'," Wolfgang's voice turned cold, laced with harsh reality. "It is only when you truly master the 'Mind-Blade', and can wield it to this extent—turning will into tangible force—that you have a chance…"
He paused deliberately. Kaelen, still swinging, 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 powerfully convincing spectacle left Erika dumbfounded, his heart racing. This was completely beyond his previous understanding of "power"! This wasn't mere energy projection or defense; this was true manipulation of reality by thought alone! A symbol of authority!
Wolfgang seemed to deem the demonstration sufficient. His intent relaxed.
"Thump!" Kaelen landed in an undignified heap on the floor, groaning and rubbing his backside, muttering about "abusing authority" and "that petty Old Wolf," though his eyes held no real anger, just a flicker of genuine awe at Wolfgang's control so soon after his breakthrough.
Wolfgang paid him no mind. His gaze returned to Erika, deep as an abyss.
"What you just witnessed," he said slowly, his tone a heavy warning, "was merely a fraction of my capability."
The words hit Erika like a physical blow. Such power, and only a fraction? What would the full Mind-Blade be 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, but the vessel that carries it all—your body!"
He gestured to his own scarred, muscular torso, to the newly forged Mark still emitting a faint energy glow.
"The Marks are the conduits of energy, the manifestation of principles. But your body is the foundation that houses the Marks, transforms the energy, and supports the will. The mightier the Mind-Blade, the vaster the energy, the greater the strain on the flesh. 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 and the lingering energy in the air said it all. Self-destruction. Or being consumed by the very power you sought to command.
"A powerful body can contain more energy, sustain a sturdier will, and allow you to walk the path of forging more Marks and awakening your own Mind-Blade." He stared at Erika, enunciating each word as if to brand it onto his 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, brushing dust from his robes, his usual smirk absent, watching Erika with a complicated expression.
Erika stood rooted, his mind ringing. Wolfgang's words, Kaelen's undignified lesson, the intangible yet very real power of the "Mind-Blade," Wolfgang's own scars and Marks that spoke of both power and pain… all wove together into a stark, brutally clear map of power.
All his previous confusion, fear, and sense of being cornered seemed to find a direction—immensely clear, yet dauntingly difficult.
Power was not unattainable, but it had strict, non-negotiable entry rules.
And his first lesson was to learn how to forge the vessel capable of bearing it.
Looking at Wolfgang, he understood with newfound clarity that the man before him was not just an Instructor. He was a towering mountain, holding endless power and knowledge, a peak he would need to scale with reverence and relentless effort.
And he had only just arrived at the foot of the slope.