Chapter Twenty: Psionic Energy

"Haa—"

In the dim room, where the lights remained off, there was a sound of metal equipment dragging against cables, followed by a long, ragged breath.

Even with the protection of Thousand Star City’s firewall, every foray into the "Abyss" via the "Deep-Dive Gear" took a significant toll. Yet, it was an addiction he couldn't shake.

Within Thousand Star City, he could observe others freely and speculate on their personalities. While the "anonymous service" made this far more difficult than in reality, the satisfaction derived from such challenges was proportionally greater, and it served as excellent training for his psionic art, [Trait Reserve].

Moreover, there was the occasional bit of extra cash to be made.

In reality, however, he was merely a down-and-out online game booster, sitting in front of a tablet all day, running automated software to grind for various materials. Nobody cared what his real name was; they only knew his online handle, "Tark Studio (DM me for boosting)," and definitely not Tom... pfft.

"Pfft, pfft—no, that’s not right. My name isn't Tom."

Nicol climbed off his bed, tossed the deep-dive gear aside, and rummaged through the clutter on his desk until he finally found what he was looking for.

He shuffled off the bed, yanked open the metal blinds—corroded by acid rain—and leaned against the window frame, head tilted. His right hand pinched a crumpled cigarette, while the fingertips of his left hand, now replaced by a prosthetic, emitted a small spark to light it.

A swirling ring of smoke drifted lazily upward, illuminating the dim nightscape outside. The neon glow of the White Gate District could not reach this remote alley in the Deep Moss District.

"Cough..."

He took a deep drag, but Nicol couldn't quite handle it, breaking into a fit of coughing. Although nicotine atomizers had replaced most traditional cigarettes, and in theory, the taste and sensation were no different, he still preferred the real thing. Even if it meant further straining his already meager finances.

Nicol had never trusted the corporations. It was true when he was a child, and it remained true now.

Perhaps it was more than just distrust. Perhaps it was... fear.

Nicol exhaled a cloud of white vapor, thinking slowly.

That was why, two years ago, when he accidentally awakened his psionic powers, he chose not to report it to the United Government. Naturally, that meant he missed out on the special talent subsidy—which was as much a tracking measure for psionics as it was a stipend.

After all, it was nearly ten thousand credits a month. With the economy in such a slump these past few years and everyone living hand-to-mouth, that wasn't a small sum.

"Hey, the people who came from the outside... they wouldn't actually be those wasteland bandits, would they?"

Nicol took another sharp drag.

Although forty percent of the Earth had become "wasteland" unsuitable for human habitation due to the rampant use of nuclear and chemical weapons during the Seven Earths War, "unsuitable" was the operative word. There were still nomadic tribes and wasteland supply towns far from the cities. Furthermore, no city could be entirely self-sufficient; goods had to be sold, raw materials bought, and transport convoys had to traverse the wastes.

Wasteland bandits were death-defying lunatics who lived in the wastes, surviving on extortion and plunder. Occasionally, they would slip into cities to fence stolen goods, spend money, and restock.

But after a moment's thought, Nicol felt that didn't seem right.

The [Consensus] Path made his intuition sharper than the average person's. In their brief exchange earlier, the other party felt more like a mercenary than a nomadic bandit.

"Did they sneak into the city, or something else? A... no, probably a group of mercenaries, right? Sticking together is better than being alone, especially for jobs that require risking your life."

Bumping into a group of mercenaries of unknown origin for no reason—what a quintessential "Palosse" kind of day.

Nicol felt a pang of irony. With that, he hesitated for a moment, crushed the last of his cigarette on the windowsill, and decided he would try to manipulate his psionics later, using that person's method.

As for everything else?

What did that have to do with a bottom-tier game booster like him?

...

Cheap Hotel, Room B302.

Song Shi slowly opened his eyes and adjusted his breathing. The oppressive feeling brought on by diving into the [Abyss] gradually faded.

The [Abyss] was not only filled with technical challenges but was also a massive "redundant psionic aggregate." Consequently, the deeper one went into the [Abyss], the greater the pressure—psionics could increase their resistance to this, but they couldn't stay there indefinitely.

A First-Circle psionic in a Depth-1 zone like Thousand Star City could last about two hours, though relying on the city's firewall extended this to four.

"—Psionics."

Song Shi exhaled and looked at his palm.

Driven by his intent, a wisp of red-gold flame surged between his fingers, swaying in the air, before vanishing the moment he clenched his fist.

The number of psionic arts a psionic could master was limited. It wasn't just a matter of "biting off more than one can chew"; when too many, overly diverse arts were mastered, they often failed to complement each other and could even conflict, leading to a lack of "purity" and muddied psionic energy.

Therefore, while there were exceptions, generally speaking, three was the optimal number of psionic arts for a First-Circle psionic, with a margin of one or two.

"I already have 'Flame of Creation.' My starting point is far better than in my past life..."

When he awakened in his previous life, the path had granted him the psionic art [Ignition as Blade]. It sounded impressive, but its effect was merely to guide existing flames and reshape them into the outline of a longsword, allowing the wielder to face enemies with a fire blade.

It wasn't useless, but it was certainly limited. First, it couldn't create flame out of thin air; one had to have a lighter or something similar on hand to provide the fire. Second, the guided flames had limitations—the temperature couldn't be too high, the volume couldn't be too large, and there were limits to the shapes it could hold—so, forget about a "ship-cutting blade."

Furthermore, without [Elemental Resistance: Fire], the fire blade would burn the wielder just as easily as the enemy. One had to wear asbestos gloves or similar thermal insulation gear, or they would be burned before the enemy was.

—But the current [Flame of Creation], beyond its various inherent traits, directly provided the wielder with a degree of fire elemental resistance!

If one were to compare it to "technology" instead of psionics, at least for a First-Circle psionic, [Ignition as Blade] was nothing more than a restricted flamethrower, while [Flame of Creation] was a complex piece of equipment integrating body enhancement, weapon buffing, and the ability to manifest fire from nothing.

That was the difference.

Although the price for acquiring the Flame of Creation was the burden of the ritual, [Blood-Spilled Oath of Fire], which required him to take the head of a significant enemy within nineteen days and offer it to the Path.

"I am a top-tier expert. How could I demonstrate that without a challenge?"

Song Shi tapped the table, a mysterious smile playing on his lips. "Nineteen days, is it?"

"Well then, tomorrow, I'll go make some quick money."