The news of Room 404's "Protection Tax" spread through the Shadow Valley faster than a fire in a dry hayloft. By the time Vincy made it to the central auditorium for the first official lecture, he felt less like a student and more like a walking target.
The auditorium was a grand, circular pit carved from granite, capable of holding five hundred students. The front rows were occupied by the blue-robed Outer Sect disciples, including a very bandaged Baron, while the back rows were a sea of grey-robed Sect Students—the "trash" of the school.
At the center of the pit stood Master Hemlock, a man whose face looked like a crumpled piece of parchment and whose disposition was twice as dry.
"Cultivation," Hemlock began, his voice rasping like sandpaper, "is the process of turning your body from a leaky bucket into a jade vase. Most of you," he paused, his eyes landing squarely on Vincy, "are currently leaky buckets made of mud."
"Today we discuss Qi Compression," Hemlock continued. "The ability to take the ambient energy of the Primordial Star and fold it into your meridians. If you fold it too loosely, you are weak. If you fold it too tightly, you explode. It is a delicate balance."
Hemlock pulled out a small, iron sphere. "Who among our 'talented' newcomers would like to demonstrate? Perhaps the boy who broke the testing stone?"
A ripple of snickering went through the front rows. Kaelen, sitting among the Inner Court observers, leaned forward with a predatory grin.
"Come forward, Vincy Sparrow," Hemlock commanded. "Show us your... unique digestive capabilities."
Vincy shuffled down the stairs, his knees knocking. "I really shouldn't," he muttered. "I'm not good with iron."
"Oh, for the love of the Star, stand up straight," Piet's voice groaned in his ear. "The man is teaching you a compression technique that's about as advanced as folding a napkin. If you do what he says, you'll be a Foundation-stage peasant for a hundred years. Let me handle the 'folding' part."
"No! Stay back!" Vincy whispered under his breath. "You'll make it weird again!"
Vincy took the iron sphere. It was cold and remarkably heavy.
"Now," Hemlock instructed, "Focus your intent. Draw the Qi from the air, spiral it through your palm, and compress it into the center of the iron. If you succeed, the sphere will glow red."
Vincy closed his eyes. He tried to focus on the spiral, but he felt a cold, violet hand overlap his own mental energy. Piet wasn't taking over the body this time; he was simply... "correcting" the flow.
"Spirals are for amateurs, Vincy. We're going to use the Seven-Star Compaction Method. It doesn't spiral; it collapses."
"Wait, Piet, that sounds—"
THUM.
A sound like a muffled drumbeat echoed through the auditorium. The iron sphere in Vincy's hand didn't glow red. Instead, it began to shrink.
The students leaned in, confused. The sphere got smaller. And smaller. Within seconds, the fist-sized iron ball had been compressed into a tiny, black bead no larger than a grain of rice.
The air around the bead began to warp. A faint whistling sound filled the room as the sheer density of the object started pulling in the nearby air.
"What... what is this?" Hemlock stammered, poking at the bead with a wooden pointer.
The moment the pointer touched the grain of rice, the "Seven-Star Compaction" reached its limit. The energy had nowhere left to go but out.
BOOM.
It wasn't a lethal explosion, but it was a very, very loud one. The shockwave sent the black bead flying like a bullet. It struck Dax's pocket—the one currently filled with "Experimental Pepper-Sneeze Talismans."
The resulting chain reaction was a masterpiece of chaos. A cloud of hyper-concentrated red pepper dust exploded, covering the front three rows of Outer Sect disciples.
"My eyes! My honorable eyes!" Kaelen shrieked, clutching his face.
"It's a chemical attack!" Baron yelled, blindly swinging his bandaged arms and accidentally knocking Master Hemlock into the spirit-ink well.
In the midst of the coughing, sneezing, and blue-ink-covered elders, Vincy stood perfectly still, holding a tiny, empty palm.
"Well," Piet mused, sounding quite pleased with himself. "That was much more efficient than a red glow, don't you think?"
Vincy watched as Grog, confused by the 'red' dust, started throwing his lunch turnips at the sneezing disciples, thinking it was some kind of training exercise.
"I'm going to be executed," Vincy whispered, watching Master Hemlock climb out of the ink well looking like a very angry, very blue demon. "I'm definitely going to be executed."
"SPARROW!" Hemlock roared, his voice cracking. "DETENTION! IN THE SPIRIT BEAST STABLES! FOR A MONTH!"
"Perfect," Piet whispered. "The stables are where they keep the High-Grade Spirit Grass. I've been meaning to brew some tea."