NOVEL NEXT B2 Chapter 20
Ierne was an odd planet, terraformed three millennia ago, but remained a harsh world with a perilously thin atmosphere. Despite its smaller size, roughly 0.9 times Terra's radius, its gravity was two-thirds stronger.
Angar, while a Cloisteranage student, hadn't learned much about the 'why' of things. That was okay. He'd figure it all out, bit by bit.
As he traveled with Hierarch Rusak and two Exactors of the Sanguineous Sisterhood to a new mining town, he mulled over the problem.
Gravity depended on mass and radius. Or was it mass and volume? Either way, Ierne had to be denser than Terra, likely crammed with heavy metals and a bloated iron core.
No, he corrected himself, dredging up facts he'd been taught to memorize and regurgitate, not understand. Density was mass divided by volume. Gravity was proportional to mass but inversely to radius squared. He didn't know what that meant exactly though.
He considered asking Rusak if he was right about heavy metals and a larger iron core but dismissed the idea. The answer would likely be buried in a sermon about sin, confession, and lust.
Instead, when he returned to it, he'd check the ship's library for books on the subject. Or ask Kong. The crew technicus enjoyed teaching and sharing knowledge.
As did Rusak, but the new ship chaplain more preached in a cryptic manner than taught, obscuring clear explanations.
Unlike Harc, who spun outright lies, claiming ignorance of the Caitiff's possession by a higher-planes demon, that Angar should've been wise enough to refuse to fight the Caitiff anyway, and such.
It was a certainty Hidetada was aware Angar knew the truth. Having resisted Azgoth's corrupting influence and attempts to turn him psychically, the Saint desired to know Angar's limits.
Angar had none. He was superior to all others. He hoped his grand marshal kept doubting that truth, serving up more such glorious battles.
As he mulled over things, he fidgeted with the item he'd claimed two weeks ago, after defeating that high-planes demon.
The Unspoken Way, Psy Crystal, Trinket/Accessory - Enhances psychic power effectiveness and increases Resilience by 3 points. The wind blows where it wills, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes.
The crystal measured roughly thirteen centimeters in length, tapering from two and a half to eight at its widest height, with a sturdy five-centimeter width.
Rusak had never encountered a named Psy Crystal, nor heard of one. A few legends claimed some famous items bore a line or two of ancient scripture though.
As far as Rusak could discern, even the crystal's name, The Unspoken Way, echoed an old scripture. 'The Way that can be spoken is not the eternal Way.'
While a crystal wasn't required to wield psychic power, it significantly enhanced effectiveness, so all Psychics used them.
Embedding the crystal in armor was done a specific way, as it worked best touching flesh while being exposed to the outside, integrated through the armor to connect with both skin and the external world.
Since crystals could be targeted and damaged, they usually had a protective barrier that retracted when channeling psychic energy.
Grays kept theirs exposed and unprotected. Rusak did too, but he had taken a vow of poverty. Angar assumed it was a funding issue, as crystal-bracers probably weren't cheap.
The Zephuros lacked a foundry capable of modifying Crusader Armor much, and Kong lacked the skills required to work its metal to include such a customization. Kong, as the crew technicus, was responsible for armor repair and maintenance, but Gux had been the expert.
Even if Kong had the skill and a foundry capable, where his gauntlet extracted into a bracer covered the spot where the crystal should go.
He couldn't embed his new item until they reached much better worlds than Albion and Ierne. And the customization could be expensive.
As they traveled around Albion then Ierne, rallying Layfolk into a fervor and leading purges, Rusak had been mentoring Angar in the ways of the Psychic.
That morning, before leaving the town of Manapia, in a windswept clearing within the dome of the mining town, Hierarch Rusak stood over Angar, the gears of his exosuit grinding as he shifted his stance.
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
"Focus, Child," Rusak barked. "Your mind is a flame. Feed it with unyielding faith and discipline, or let it gutter in the darkness of the unholy. Doubt is sin, Child. Let the Divine flow as you contemplate the eternal."
Angar knelt on the rocky ground, the air thin even within the poorly functioning dome, trying to still his thoughts. Rusak had set a simple task. He was to shift or sense the faint resonance of a pebble placed in front of him.
It was one of the most basic exercises to awaken a psychic power related to telekinesis, but Angar felt nothing. Except frustration.
"Empty your mind of all that tempts it," Rusak commanded. "I know your struggle. As you attempt to shift the pebble, or seek its resonance, purging your thoughts, thinking on nothingness, your sinful mind conjures images of the impure. Do not succumb, Child."
Angar, his eyes closed, gave up on trying to shift the pebble. He strained to feel something. Some vibration, a ripple, a spark, anything. He pictured the pebble, willing his awareness to stretch toward it.
Nothing. Just silence and the weight of Rusak's disappointed gaze.
"Again," Rusak snapped. "You're clinging to the material, to the temporal, to lustful longings. Cast them out before they consume you."
Angar tried once more, his jaw tight, his fists clenched. A headache throbbed behind his eyes, but no resonance came.
His brows furrowed in frustration. I will get this, he thought, the unspoken decree a promise as hard as steel.
Rusak's eyes narrowed, as filled with zeal as always, fervor burning like a fire deep within them. "You'll continue to fail as long as you refuse to surrender to the Divine. You're far too distracted by sin and lust. The mind must yield before bending, and temptation purged, lest it break."
The Hierarch moved away and knelt himself. "Come, Child, confess in the Sacrament of Penance. Cleanse your soul of all the sin weighing it down, and prepare for tonight's lessons, as we depart soon."
At night, they usually focused on telepathic and clairvoyance exercises.
Angar stifled a grunt of irritation as he rose from the rocky ground and trudged the short distance toward the Hierarch.
He knelt on the cold stone, looking at his mentor's scarred and tattooed face, set with stern expectation.
Angar knew he'd disappoint the man again, as he had no sins to confess, not by his own measure.
His mind wasn't pure, of course. He had plenty of dark and sinful thoughts coursing through his mind, such as how satisfying the crunch of his power hammer against Rusak's bald scalp would be. But desires weren't actions, and he never acted on such thoughts.
At sixteen, he was filled with lust, a natural fire for his age, but it never clouded his judgement or interfered with his duties.
Rusak, however, was convinced otherwise. To him, Angar's soul was a blackened tapestry of unconfessed sins, each one a chain binding his psychic manifestation.
Each confession, the Hierarch's piercing gaze demanded he admit to crimes he wasn't guilty of, and Angar wouldn't admit to sins uncommitted, as that would be the sin of lying.
Trinitarian dogma also clashed with Angar's beliefs. The Church deemed pride a sin, a deadly stain, preventing humility before the Lord.
But to Angar, pride was everything, including the bedrock of his faith, what fueled his life, and his great resolve, humbling him before God.
And the Hierarch had an unsettling obsession with lustful thoughts. Whenever Angar admitted to harboring such feelings, his confessor always pressed for intimate specifics and explicit details that anyone would be reluctant to share, causing his face to redden with embarrassment and discomfort.
As it was shrouded in taboo, Angar often considered asking Rusak for information on the Voluvicas Credits. Specifically, the precise conditions under which they were bestowed. He knew one was usually granted every year, but nothing beyond that.
Angar now held eleven of these credits. He had recently been granted two, both a mark of some unspoken merit, the rhyme or reason either had been granted guessed at, but unknown.
All he had been taught was that Voluvicas Credits were for when lustful urges grew too strong to bear, and the Holy Knight and Ecclesiastic estates had once demanded absolute celibacy, a sacred vow that had loosened with the introduction of these credits.
Matrimony, however, remained strictly forbidden, as members of these estates must devote themselves wholly to the Three, Holy War, or their sacred duties to ministry or flock, emulating the blessed Mother's chaste, pure, and unwed life, ensuring an unyielding focus on spiritual or martial callings.
Many Crusaders and clergy still swore vows of celibacy, though few positions now demanded it. Others embraced vows of silence or similar austere oaths, binding their lives in chains of discipline to deepen their spiritual connection to the Three, or draw closer to Divine truth.
Angar believed they'd be better off rendering the Lord His rightful due of battle and blood.
Frustration gnawed at his gut, and thoughts about his lack of progress manifesting a psychic power held a bitter edge. He'd always excelled in any pursuit he set his mind and will to. Except this one.
It was like trying to grasp smoke. It was a wall he couldn't breach despite his relentless effort.
Psychic and psionic power tied to willpower and resolve, and none exceeded Angar in those two qualities. It was infuriating.
Hierarch Rusak ordered Angar to forgo not only the Mind of Shaloth'Eshk Feat but any Feat selection for now.
Since choosing a Feat altered current options and changed future offerings, only after Angar manifested a psychic power would he take the Mind of Shaloth'Eshk.
Though psychic abilities existed largely outside the Divine System, once manifested, a Psychic, not just someone with psychic potential, could unlock Feats to strengthen their path or open new ones.
Skill Points could hone certain psychic aspects, but doing so was unwise before a power had manifested.
His lack of progress manifesting was infuriating, but he had progressed well otherwise, in a more important way.
He'd been level 37 when he died, and dying was something he still found odd to think about, and tried not to. When he vanquished the Caitiff and the true demon, he had been level 42, earning 12 levels for both victories, most from the demon, elevating him to level 54.
Since then, he'd slain a couple dozen or so people, but none yielded significant experience points, and most XP was divided with his companions.
Opening his Annals, he studied his growth.