“Without training, they lacked knowledge.
Without knowledge, they lacked confidence.
Without confidence, they lacked victory.”
- Julius Caesar, (Unknown, 1st Era)
Psyche. That was the key. If he wanted to advance his control of Fury, he’d need to pursue that Virtue.
He’d remained uncertain up until he asked VAL for an Analysis of his behavior while in the Fury state. Given the increased Data—a whole week of additional training with Boldwick and Garin—VAL marked a point where his combat awareness in Fury appeared to improve. It didn't seem to be a coincidence that it was shortly after his Psyche advanced to Tier 8.
Erec had a theory. It was a bit out there, but the moment the thought crossed his mind, he couldn’t deny the need.
Each night over the last week had those horrible red eyes watching him in his sleep.
If he broke into the E-Ranks with Psyche, he might have some control over Fury. But he needed help, especially if he were to advance his Psyche that far in so short a time.
Erec knocked on Boldwick’s office door.
“Who is it?” came Boldwick’s peeved voice from inside.
“Erec,” he said and puffed up his chest. The Master Knight hadn’t made time to show up to the two Divine Talent Development sessions. But he needed advice and permission. Perhaps it’d be better not to waste his time, but then… Out of all of the instructors he’d met so far, Boldwick put so much on the line for him. He’d gone to Able first with his theory, only for the man to blow him off and state that he’d advance Psyche naturally by training up his Mysticism or Faith.
That might’ve been true. But he didn’t have the time to wait. The nightmares and constant chipping at his mind told him he needed to fix the problem as soon as possible.
Sir Able instead decided to use their time to polish him by enhancing his Strength and Vigor—with additional training designed to push those two Virtues. For more chapters visit novᴇlfire.net
If he wanted to enhance Psyche faster, he needed to do something extreme.
And he needed it in two weeks. His heart told him that the risk outside of the wall would be too significant if he didn’t manage to advance Psyche in the next two weeks. He’d be far from the Academy, armed with a weapon. What if he made the wrong step out there? What if he hurt someone?
Horrible, dreadful things that were coming damn near every night now. Red eyes. Death. Fire. He’d wake up drenched in sweat from dreams where the very moon stared down at him with crimson eyes; stars danced across burning skies in the shape of a stag. Deep in his gut, he felt a wrongness. Something was there, warning him about the awful future that would happen if he continued down this path. He needed control.
There was a sigh from the other side of the door. “Come in.”
Erec strode into the office—it was far messier than the last time he’d been here. Boldwick had thrown books around in piles around the room, a corkboard with red strings connecting strips of paper in the back. Complete with a map around the walls—and curiously, extending further with hastily scribbled notes on it. It was a thing of madness, of a person pushed to the edge.
“What do you want?” Boldwick asked, looking at him with tired red eyes. His facial hair had grown, too; stubbly, wild, and unkempt. Like Sir Able, almost.
“I want to use the glyph from the resolve test for training.”
Boldwick gave a harsh laugh and rubbed at his eyes. “I think that’s the first time an initiates’ been dumb enough to ask me for that. What in the name of the Goddess makes you want to do that again?”
“I believe that strengthening my Psyche will allow me to handle my Divine Talent better,” Erec said, slightly bowing at the request.
“It’ll strengthen over time as you’ve had more battle or worked on your Mysticism. Both of those will naturally cause you to advance.” Boldwick rubbed his eyes. “You’re being impatient. That test is a heavy strain on your mental facilities, and I damn near disapprove of even using it twice a year, as you’re required to already.”
But I can’t practice Mysticism in my downtime. They’d been forbidden from forming glyphs on their own. Now, Erec could’ve bypassed that, but it had dangers to doing it wrong. He was smart enough to realize that it could have unintended consequences for not only himself but others too. This way had two advantages.
It would be quicker. And it would only affect himself.
Time was slipping by like little bits of sand through a thin neck of an hourglass, falling second by second. Erec felt a rising dread, and as the nightmares intensified, that feeling dug in like cold iron needles.
He needed to do more.
As Boldwick turned his eyes to the three books in front of him, it became clear that the Master Knight didn’t have much to add to the topic.
“Something bad is going to happen. If I don’t figure out how to control my Fury, I know that it’ll all go wrong on this expedition.” Erec decided to state, his voice shaking. Red eyes. Every night red eyes gazed at him from the dark. Were they his? Were they that part of him possessed with anger? The desire to combust into an inferno and burn the world again? Erec clenched a fist, his knuckles going white.
His chest felt hot; each breath stoked the furnace inside.
Boldwick stopped. His tired eyes snapped to Erec. “You think you’d lose control during the expedition?”
“There’s something more. Isn’t there?” Boldwick tilted his head, something hidden behind his eyes. “I see it in your shaking hand; how you’re a second away from letting your nails dig into your palm and draw blood… What do you know about a white stag?”
Boldwick whipped across the room like a hurricane—pages and books flying as the Master Knight vaulted the desk, hands settling on Erec’s shoulders and his fingers digging in. His mad eyes gazed down on Erec, a deathly serious expression on his face. “Do you dream of a white stag?” the Master Knight whispered. “Do you feel the dread?”
Erec made a choked noise, confusion and validation suddenly rushing up in an overwhelming twist of emotion. “I—yes!” Erec got out, shaking his head. “B-but, you do too?”
Boldwick slowly nodded, letting Erec go, and looked back over his desk. “I’m not sure what the cause is, but ever since we’ve returned from that Trial, I’ve been having nightmares of a damned White Stag. It’s been like an itch that won't leave me alone in the back of my mind. It’s been getting worse. Yet nobody else has felt a damn thing—“ he jerked a finger at Erec. “Except you.”
Erec worked his jaw. He’d thought the manifestation to be a part of himself. An image of his Fury conjured in those evil eyes. After all, his experience with his Talent had begun around the same time. But this meant… it was something else? “I don’t understand.”
Boldwick picked up a book and flung it at a wall with a harsh laugh. “Two of us. I’ve submitted a report; apparently, nightmares in my head means I’m gone off the deep end. Never mind the odd behavior of those Thrashing Mites. Or the fact we haven’t had a Rift spawn that close to our wall ever—“ Boldwick looked up at the ceiling. “Master Knight, yet the other Orders have dismissed my theory. Can you believe they suggested I take a sabbatical?”
“I—what does it mean?”
“I don’t have an answer to that.”
Boldwick leaned on his desk, frowning as he looked at a book before smashing it off desk. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“…Is it dangerous to have the expedition?” Erec asked, considering the implications. If things were going wrong, then surely it meant they should stay within the walls and prepare for whatever was happening. Even if the other Orders didn’t believe
“There is a tenet to which we are beholden, that you shall be bound to one day too: ’Mine are the eyes of the Kingdom; they shall see for the peoples of the Kingdom that cannot. I will not hesitate to witness the unknown.’ I think you get the point. You may be an initiate, yet you’re still a Knight, Erec. Entrusted with Armor and the hopes of the people. Not only a Knight—a Knight of the Order of the Verdant Oak; we must always tread into the dangers of the Wasteland. If we don’t, who else will?”
There was a lot there. But more than that, Boldwick seemed… Tired. Like he’d been wrung out and had whatever was driving him wild in his head cut loose. The admission that he was still seemingly sane—transformed him but stripped away that raw mad energy.
"The expedition must continue. It's more important now than ever. We must find proof of the danger and force it in front of the Kingdom's eyes. Fortunately, Grandmaster Oak has agreed with me. We'll take half of the Order out into the expedition to seek our answers." Boldwick puffed up his chest. "…Though, I'm sure Grandmaster Oak will be relieved when I report another is sharing these visions. Even if I doubt an initiate's additional testimony will sway the other Orders."
Boldwick returned to the other side of the desk, setting down a stack of clean papers as he forced Erec to share the details of the nightmares plaguing him. The feelings of dread, the weight of those burning red eyes—while Boldwick only asked questions, and wrung out as much info, Erec saw the Master Knight begin to relax with each passing sheet of paper written.
Confirming that something really did wait in the dark, even if it was beyond understanding, brought them together.
At the end of the report, Boldwick chewed the pen’s cap absently and reread several lines.
Erec cleared his throat. “Well, can I use the glyph to train my Psyche?”
Boldwick refocused himself, setting both hands on the table. “Perhaps I’m an awful instructor. May the Goddess above grant forgiveness; yes. I will allow you to use it. Though I think the practice is barbaric. But I’m also a man who has come to terms with taking a troupe of greenhorns into a wasteland where I feel something horrible is hiding. I’ve sent many Knights to their death on expeditions, even if I never intended it. If you’re determined to push yourself , I will not let you do it alone. An hour, every three days. That’s all you get. And if I think it’s driving you too far, you’re done.”
Erec nodded his head eagerly. “When do we start?”