Leonidas delved back into his core and sought, instead of his mana, the intangible ribbons of ‘void purple’ coruscating Psi drifting amid the chaotic and tempestuous maelstrom of his [Cataclysm Core]. With Will and Intent, he drew upon those now-familiar currents of energy and pulled them into his control. As before, a feeling like static electricity rippled through his body, and he felt the power of his Affinity answering his call.

  “Now make them coexist,” he murmured.

  Unlike his cataclysmic mana, Psi didn’t rage—it flowed. That difference sparked an idea. Ceruviel had said to circulate both, and the largest amount of trepidation he felt was the idea of drawing the destabilizing power of his core into his mind and his brain’s chamber.

  But what if it was filtered?

  What if he used his Psi to insulate his Mana like an electrical current?

  Only one way to find out.

  Excitement warred with subtle, but mounting exhaustion and Leonidas wove his psi into something akin to a cylinder of Intent. Each strand of the energy was knitted together, creating a firmly tied but not wholly enclosed tube of power. Like a woven blanket, it still had small gaps; enough for his mana to leak out and work its literal magic, but not enough to overwhelm or savage him in the way he feared.

  At least, that was the hope.

  With that done, he created more; enough for each of the mana channels he would traverse leading up to his brain.

  Another stabilizing breath was taken, and Leonidas proceeded to isolate the tubes of psi just outside of his core. The instant he unshackled the energy from his Core, the strain multiplied. His psi constructs groaned under the pressure, like steel beams bracing against an earthquake.

  Instead of being a 1 to 1.1 difference in effort, it felt like it was a jump from a 1 to a 2. The analogy helped him visualize it, at least, and gave him the chance to reaffirm and assert his Will before proceeding. Attempting to maintain the structure after adding the cataclysm mana and then extricating it may have resulted in disaster, and he was glad he hadn’t done so.

  “Containing the mana will be impossible…” he muttered in realization. “It’s too volatile, but maybe what I need isn’t containment, it’s like reactor shielding…”

  Almost as soon as he vocalized it, he realized what he wanted to do, and acted.

  The psionic cylinders expanded with his will, spreading out and pressing against the internal structure of his chosen mana channels. Instead of creating containers, he instead created a kind of psionic shield for his channels—protecting them from the immediate impact of his unstable mana, but with small ‘breathable’ perforations in the shield to allow the energy to directly interface with the ‘walls’ of the mana channels still.

  It was like diluting alcohol, in essence.

  Finally, he generated singular ‘tubes’ of psionic power shaped not unlike turbines within his channels, and settled them just shy of the full length of each shielded section. Cataclysm mana was like a tidal force, and for all that it crackled, raged, and acted like unfettered chaos—it was still an energy he could control. If he could use the ‘turbines’ of psionic power to corral the mana and keep it from escaping the psionic shielding, it would allow for much finer control.

  Sweat dripped from his forehead, and he could feel the subtle drain on his psi, but he paid it no heed.

  “Okay, now for the test.”

  Leonidas took another stabilizing breath and then, with a final exhale of preparation, he half-unleashed, half-dragged his mana into his channels. At the same time, he ‘spun’ the psionic energy layering his channels one way, and spun the ‘turbines the other. The result was a shock of power rushing into the psionic constructs and then abruptly being trapped by the opposing forces of rotation.

  “Fuck me!”

  The pain was near-instantaneous, but so too was a sudden and unexpected surge of invigoration. The mana interacted with the psi like a supercharger, and the feedback loop he’d only experienced from inverting his mana flow suddenly hit him like an injection of adrenaline. The right side of his body, within the channels he’d chosen, felt like someone had thrown the light of the sun into a focused beam against solar panels—and he felt the revitalization instantly.

  It just sucked that it hurt so damned much.

  “Move, damn it, move!” he growled under his breath while his battle meditation kicked into overdrive. A mix of excitement, fear, and reckless ambition combined with his [Noble’s Resolve] and Leonidas did the equivalent of slamming his foot down on the accelerator. The psionic energy’s forward elements twisted upwards along his channels and moved, and the cataclysm mana moved with it—and Leonidas felt a surge of energy race through him while it did.

  The channels he’d selected ran directly up toward his brain, through his torso and neck, and he gasped at the power that nullified his latent enervation. Where before he was deprived of energy from the day’s exertions, suddenly he felt small injections of it surging across his body. Ceruviel had explained cycling like a gradual and steady process, and maybe it was—but she had not accounted for his core.

  It was unlikely she had any idea what the interaction would entail.

  His breath hitched. A surge of raw power shot through his nerves like wildfire, igniting every fiber of his being. His lips parted in shock at the sheer magnitude of the sensation he was experiencing. It was not that he was suddenly absent fatigue, but it was an actual and tangible level of restoration that even during his most potent levels of power in Elatra he’d never been able to experience.

  Willpower and Intent warred against his momentary distraction and Leonidas forced himself to be grounded—lest his shock and excitement ruin his work, and cause damage to his body as a consequence.

  The cycling mana and psi raced toward his mind, and he mentally prepared himself for what he needed to do: predict the arrival of the cataclysm mana, layer and shield his brain’s chamber, and then push the shielding out toward his channels for the journey back down to his core on the left side of his body.

  The second the combined energy hit his chamber, his breath left his lungs.

  The fugue of exhaustion that had subtly gripped his mind in the aftermath of his emotional, mental, and physical stressors across the past day and a half seemed to diminish instantly. Clarity returned with a celerity that was astounding, and he found himself suddenly able to focus even more intently on what he was doing.

  Ironically, the risk he’d taken paid surprising dividends in ensuring it became less of a risk.

  He could already see the problems: the erosion of his psi from the destructive power of his mana, the instability of the model, the steady destabilization of the ‘turbine’ system and the way it was both boosted and made less controllable by the essence of his cataclysm mana, and the inevitable failure of the system that would happen as a result.

  He would need to channel constant psi not just into the form of constructs, but within the cataclysm rush itself. It would require greater Willpower and a more intricate understanding of his powers before he could truly begin cycling the way Ceruviel wanted, but in short sessions, he would manage.

  It would definitely allow him to mitigate the need for sleep, but not permanently. No matter what his stubborn mentor said, he would need to rest at least once or twice a week properly until he gained more levels and was able to better reinforce both his Willpower and his control over his own mana.

  More than that, he would need time for his body’s mana channels to become inoculated against the destructive power of his core. The sudden clarity allowed him to realize the problem: his core was not trying to destroy him, not really. The truth was that he simply had too much power and his body was not able to handle it. He was doing the equivalent of trying to fill acid into a clay mug, with his body as the container.

  What he needed was to do the anatomical equivalent of lining his channels with titanium, nickel, or diamond, to prevent the erosion caused by his own power. At least, that was what his admittedly limited understanding of chemistry translated it as.

  Leonidas gritted his teeth and surged psi ahead of his mana into the channels leading from his brain’s chamber back toward his core, along the left side of his body. The passage of his mana-psi combination forced a mix of sharp inhale and shuddering exhale as it roared through his channels, and he felt the tendons of his neck stand at attention.

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  For several precious seconds, even with his suddenly heightened awareness, he almost thought the entire delicate balance would unravel entirely—right up until the point that the paired energies crashed back into his core, and he gasped in relief. He’d done it! He’d actually done it! It hadn’t been easy, and it felt like he’d been eroding himself the entire time, but he’d actually managed to—

  “{I believe I said an hour.}”

  The partially amused, partially annoyed voice of his mentor cut through his internal celebration, and Leonidas opened his eyes to see Ceruviel standing in front of him with her arms folded, and her eyebrows raised. Behind her, the Duskguard on watch were doing a very poor job of hiding their subtle laughter.

  Leonidas scowled at them past Ceruviel’s figure.

  Traitors.

  “{I know, but I assumed you would simply interrupt me if you deemed it necessary.}” he responded instead to the Duchess directly, mimicking her use of Haelfennyr.

  Ceruviel smirked at his words, and Leonidas let himself subtly relax when she did. At least she was not going to kick him for the breach, which was a small mercy—not that he could have stopped her if he’d wanted to. The woman outclassed even his ludicrous abilities by several orders of magnitude.

  “{An apt assessment, Squire.}” she commended simply, while keeping her gaze fixed on his. “{Arrogant, but apt. I would indeed have interrupted you if I saw fit.}”

  “{Then I assume your lack of such served a purpose.}”

  “{Of course,}” she responded glibly. “{I wasn’t about to stop you when you were finally doing something right for the first time since coming here.}”

  Leonidas winced at her words and set his hands on his knees with a sigh. “{Cycling is far more difficult than I thought.}” he said instead of addressing her quip. “{But I can definitely see the advantages. Sadly however, I do not believe I will be able to use it as you wished—at least, not in the immediate future. I am yet too weak to withstand the tumultuous forces of my core.}”

  “{I suspected such may be the case.}” Ceruviel responded with a simple nod. “{Without sufficient experience, however, it would only have led to you either recklessly defying me if I had forbidden it, or killed your motivation to try in the first place. Permitting you to experiment was the right choice.}”

  “{It disturbs me how easily you read me given the short amount of time we have known one another, Ceruviel.}”

  The elven Archon smirked at him again, and reached up to indicatively tap her temple with a lacquered nail; a habit he noticed she enjoyed indulging in.

  “{You still need to learn to shield your mind, Achilles. Until then, you are like an open book to me, even using only my passive capabilities.}”

  Leonidas grunted at her words and set his hands to the arena floor to push himself up, instead of remaining seated on the ground. Not only did it feel mildly disrespectful despite his grievances with his mentor, but his aborted experiment with cycling had restored a great deal of his wakefulness. He wanted to do something.

  “{Are we to resume training?}” he asked still in Haelfennyr, which—thanks to his time in Elatra—almost felt more familiar to him than English.

  “{No, not as of yet.}” Ceruviel said with a shake of her head. “{First, you have a decision to make.}”

  Leonidas arched his eyebrows, but nodded for her to continue.

  “{You have likely already noticed that combat in this arena does not afford you System experience.}” Ceruviel began while adopting a more formal tone, though her only change in stance was to settle her right hand on her hip and cock it to shift her weight. Her left, meanwhile, gestured indicatively around them. “{This place is not a farm, as we call them, for experience. It is truly just a training arena. You can gain insights and lessons here that help your development, but nothing here will actually further you in the grand calculus of power within the System.}”

  That aligned directly with what Leonidas had already presumed, and he nodded at her in understanding. It hadn’t been a conscious thought, necessarily, but he had clocked the lack of experience gained after fighting both the Azrageth and Reaper constructs, and the trio that followed had been much the same.

  “{To that end, you have two choices available to you, if you are to reach your first Temper and advance your [Cataclysm Core] from Formation to Compression before you go hunting in the wilds with Princess Aylar.}”

  “{I assume not reaching that milestone is not an option?}” he asked half-rhetorically.

  “{It is not.}” Ceruviel confirmed with a tone that banished any lingering doubt. “{I gave her my word, Achilles, and I do not renege on my promises.}” the Dusk-Lord stated with firm commitment. “{The only question is which path you will walk for that promise to be fulfilled.}”

  “{What are my options?}” he asked simply.

  “{You have two,}” Ceruviel began while holding up her left forefinger. “{Your first choice is to spend the remainder of this week under my stringent tuition. I will, as stated, adhere to the schedule we discussed in the carriage. Through such, I will hone you as best I can outside the scope of the System’s active advancement, and refine your foundations to enable you to be ready for what is to come.}”

  Leonidas raised his eyebrows and settled his hands on his hips, while his eyes searched the far older woman’s thoughtfully. “{I take it that my System advancement will not be easy, then.}”

  Ceruviel simply smirked at him. “{At the end of the week, we will enroll you for the headline games in the Arena—and you will gain every bit of experience you need through a single weekend of lethal contest, or you will die. Every single match will push you to your limits, and if you succeed, your growth will be explosive. If you fail, however, you will die.}”

  Leonidas let out a quiet sigh at her words, but was unsurprised. Explosive brutality seemed exactly in line with Ceruviel’s perspective on teaching, and he couldn’t honestly say he was all that surprised. It wasn’t as if the prospect of death really bothered him, not for a lack of desire to live—at least, not anymore—but because he had already realized even with his carried trauma that life in post-incursion Earth would be ‘kill or be killed’.

  It was just the way of the world, now. Much as it had been on Elatra.

  “{Very well, and the second option?}” he asked for the sake of understanding.

  “{We truncate your direct lessons and we enroll you in less lethal, but equally helpful arena fights. Instead of facing the challenge of the headline matches, you will engage in still-lethal but far safer contests throughout the week, during the quieter period.}” Ceruviel explained with an idle gesture. “{By the weekend, you will either already be at your First Temper and ready for your Compression advancement, or close enough that a few preliminary fights prior to the headlines will nudge you over.}”

  Leonidas raised his eyebrows at that option, and then fell into a moment of contemplative silence. The safety of the second option was tempting, if only because it would mean something altogether more familiar, and ultimately less stressful. He thrived in contest, true enough, but he could also admit that he found some measure of fatalistic exhilaration in true life and death contests.

  If he didn’t enjoy them on some level, he’d never have survived against the Hive Tyrant.

  “{And which would you recommend?}” he asked Ceruviel instead of answering immediately.

  In response, the silver-haired Haelfenn tilted her head with an unreadable expression. “{We both already know which one you will choose, Achilles, but the choice must still be made. For all your pretense at being the good Squire, I am not so foolish as to try to truly erode your agency. A Sovereign walks their own path—I can only work to ensure you have the strength, knowledge, and capability to not be felled by your own Ambition before you are ready to seize it.}”

  Leonidas blinked in momentary surprise at her words, and then shook his head.

  He shouldn’t have been surprised. She knew him well enough by that point and, hell, he knew himself. He’d already made his choice the moment he’d given it any real thought. The first option entailed the most danger, pain, and risk—and it did nothing to offer him advantages going into the weekend fights. It offered him the stronger foundation, but it also predicated itself on the much larger gamble: surviving fights he likely was technically suicidally ill-prepared for.

  In many ways however, the second option was worse, because it offered a different kind of danger: complacency. The world was a cruel and savage place, following the System’s Incursion. It was a new Earth, where the strong of mind, body, and will survived—and the complacent and weak were doomed to either live by the auspices of the strong, or perish under the weight of others’ ambitions and the predations of the mana-mutated world itself.

  The options weren’t really options, he knew that, and so did Ceruviel.

  But she still had to give him the choice, because it was important that he understood what it represented as well.

  She really was a good teacher, he had to admit.

  “{The first path.}” Leonidas’ voice was steady, without doubt. “{I walk forward, not sideways. I do appreciate the chance to learn another lesson, but this one was learned long ago. Whether or not Elatra was real, the lessons it imparted remain intrinsic to who I am now. Complacency and ease have not been options for me since I transmigrated—I doubt that is likely to change with my return.}”

  “{Then you truly are the man I hoped you were.}” Ceruviel said with tacit approval. “{Very good. Go inside and have a bath, and when you are done, we will begin your training in earnest. Your mastery of the blade is exceptional, even I can admit that—but your talent with mana, while instinctive and honed, requires considerable work. Even with the volatility of your energy, there are tricks and management factors you could play with that have escaped your notice. Those, and the deeper intricacies of Psi, must be explored and understood if you are to survive the Arena.}”

  “{And the lessons in statecraft, history, and otherwise?}” he enquired while dusting himself off habitually and turning to follow her when she started already walking toward the mansion proper.

  “{They will proceed as planned. You will need considerable help there, if you are to impress the princess. You have already committed yourself to this path, Achilles, so there is no point pretending otherwise. Unless you wish to brave this new and daunting world absent the miraculous opportunity you have found here, your path only ends one way now: with Aylar in your bed, and a crown on each of your heads.}”

  Leonidas sighed and felt his cheeks fill with heat again.

  “{You really need to stop putting that image in my mind.}” he groused.

  Ceruviel smirked at him sidelong as they walked.

  “{Oh, I cannot wait until you learn about the royal harem.}”

  To that, Leonidas only had a single response.

  “{The royal fucking what now?}”

  Much to his chagrin, Ceruviel just laughed.

  I know I would be.