Chapter 11 #2
“I spoke with the inner circle about your vacation. They refused your return to the battalion—the council wants you to train the final-year students and only come back once they graduate. They said: 'Zion is our best warrior. He needs a break or he'll lose his mind from all the killing.'”
The man crossed one ankle over the other and seemed to expect some kind of response.
“Hmm.” That was all Zion could manage.
“You know what I think?” He finally raised his eyes to the general. “I think this is a terrible mistake. A person doesn't lose their mind from killing—they get stronger.”
“Or perhaps they just lock themselves in a tower cluttered with books. In the end, I'd say someone who's lost their mind lacks the mental capacity to recognize they're in that state.”
The two remained motionless for a few seconds, studying each other with feral intensity.
“Perhaps,” the man said, studying the general, whose skin crawled under that speculative gaze.
“I believe your stay won't be so bad after all.
Judging by the smell, you're enjoying it quite a bit.” His gaze drifted to the portrait of a woman on the wall.
A nostalgic gleam flickered in his eyes, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, and he turned back to the general.
“Anyway, instead of rubbing yourself all over her, I suggest you teach her to fight better. What happened today was appalling—I was shocked by such foolishness.”
Zion, as always, had nothing to say to the man's grandstanding, so he ignored it and cut straight to the question that would end this meeting.
“Why did you call me?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You got to the direct questions faster this time,” the man said, rising with the book in his hands. “The encounter with the female probably left you more irritable, didn't it? Let me guess—she doesn't like you very much, does she?”
“I don't see how that's any of your business.” Zion narrowed his eyes at the man.
“Oh, it is, boy! Everything you two do is my business.
She's your responsibility, and you're mine.
If she causes problems, I'll have problems by extension, and you know I don't like that. So keep yourselves on a leash.” He looked Zion up and down and added, “Or rather, in your pants.” He smiled, but what gleamed in his eyes was an unmistakable threat.
Zion clenched his jaw. He wouldn't rise to the bait—he knew it was a losing battle. The man watched him with a mocking smile, as if daring him to retort.
“What a bad mood, boy! All right, let's get to the point then.” He walked over and, as he passed, pressed a book against the general's chest. “I need you to read this, or at least try to.”
“Why don’t you read it yourself?” Zion asked, taking the book.
Its cover was entirely black with the image of an open palm printed on it.
The man shot him a dark look, which the general avoided returning, knowing he was more irritated than usual today because of what had happened with Kyller.
If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up with two catastrophes in one night.
“Because it’s not a book meant for just one person—it’s ancient and locked with powerful magic.
I believe it has preferences about its readers, and since it deemed me worthy to read one of its stories, perhaps you’ll have the same luck.
” The man removed some books from the bed and lay down.
“You’re on vacation and, judging by the smell coming off you,” he gestured at Zion’s entire body, “you seem to have plenty of time on your hands. Maybe it’ll make you wiser about women.
I suppose a bit of knowledge and a dose of common sense would do you good. ”
“Is that all?” Zion asked, exasperated.
“Yes, but if you’d like to stay so we can chat about common sense and women, I’d appreciate your company.”
The general gripped the old leather cover and headed toward the shadows on the wall, but before he could reach them, the man clawed forcefully at his mental barrier. He stopped immediately and clenched his fists.
“What’s the meaning of this?” Zion hissed through his teeth.
He didn’t dare move—perhaps from fear, or simply hatred.
The claws pressed for several more seconds, scratching, forcing, pushing his barrier to its limit.
It was a massive assault, and just when he thought he couldn’t take it anymore, they vanished, leaving only the marks of invasion behind.
A drop of sweat ran down his temple from the effort of keeping the barrier under control. The man smiled.
“I’m just testing how well you’ve built your barrier. Seems you’ve reached a new level.” He stayed where he was, placing his arms behind his head like a pillow. “You’re becoming more and more like your mother. I’d even say you’ve surpassed her.”
Zion turned to face the man, knowing he couldn’t afford a conflict—his mind was still using too much energy to suppress the bond. But when the man spoke of his mother, it brought out the worst in him.
“Too bad I never had the chance to know her.”
He saw the pained look cross the other man’s face, and before they could start a fight that would certainly put all of Interion on high alert, he disappeared into the shadows of the curtain, reappearing moments later in the living room.
“Consider yourself warned about the girl. Get too close and I’ll make her mind a marvelous event,” Zion heard the psychic voice say, even from afar.
The general ignored it. Unlike Kyller, who had learned to pretend, he had learned to ignore.