Psychic Parasite

Chapter 103: First
The blue soul extended a tendril, wrapping it around the husk of the previous Jyorta’s soul. Numerous soul tendrils appeared, drilling into it, instilling memory fragments.

Jyorta made use of the same technique as before. He unearthed distinct memories from his blue soul that pertained to when he felt the emotions of calm, optimism, and filled with focus.

Based on his observations, he had finally figured out the essence underlying the false persona.

Suppose a person ate his favourite sweet; the emotions he experienced in such a scenario would be one of bliss.

The white layer coating over this memory fragment would have the characteristics of bliss. Once he unearthed similar memories and joined them together into a collective whole, using a subsoul as a base, he would be able to create a false persona—one of bliss.

The essence of the persona wasn’t the memory fragments but the white layer that coated them. Now, Jyorta wanted to recreate the false persona of calm, optimism, and filled with focus. Moreover, unlike before, he had better options.

The husk belonging to the soul of the previous Jyorta was the perfect canvas; it was easier to modify. Once he unearthed the related memories from his blue soul, he used his brain to think and ponder on it. As the memory circulated in his brain, the blue soul in him could extract the memory fragments once again.

When he first learnt of the fact that the memory fragments made the framework of his soul, and the studier they were, the greater his soul could grow, he wanted to replicate the memory fragments endlessly using his brain.

But, once they were replicated, they were slowly assimilated into the original memory fragments, only resulting in a loss of energy. Hence, he had to drop the idea.

Now, he had other plans for them; therefore, he duplicated some memories derived from his previous life.

After the fragments were duplicated, the blue soul allowed the original memory fragments to go back into the blue face. It then used its Soul Cornea, turning it jet black, passing it through the memory fragment, piercing a hole into the white layer.

It controlled the flow of its corrosion, trying its best to keep the damage to the white layer to a minimum. Whenever the white layer was damaged beyond repair, it created another copy of the memory fragment.

Leaving the white layer aside, it destroyed the memory inside, piling up the white layers next to the soul husk.

Jyorta trained his eyes, keeping a vigilant glance on his surroundings. He didn’t want to encounter Laila for the time being, until his false persona was completed. He multitasked, using the uniqueness of his blue soul to get the job done.

Walking on the soft grass overlaid on the ground, he heard the raucous cheers coming from the crowd situated before the White Building. The crowd was dense to the extent that he wondered if everyone from the military academy had gathered around the region.

On a rough estimate, there seemed to be ten-thousand students, not to mention the ground staff that kept flying from one position over to the other, managing the crowd.

In the intervals of a minute, the cheers from the crowd raised in pitch—their fervour infectious. Jyorta walked towards the White Building, soon joining the crowd. He approached a nearby student, a boy that was a head taller than him, sporting a tough exterior.

”Hello there, can I know the reason for this crowd?” Jyorta inquired, putting on the most polite expression he could muster. Noticing the arms of the boy that were equivalent to his thigh, Jyorta couldn’t help but involuntarily shrink back.

The boy in question glanced in his direction, taking note of the Batch depicted on his tracksuit, ”A student from the October Batch. No wonder you are unfamiliar with this.”

He then lifted Jyorta by the collar, hoisting him high up in the air, ”Take a look at the ranking board. I presume you would have been informed of it.”

Even though he was caught off guard for a second, noticing the other’s party’s expression lacking any malicious intent, he craned his gaze, looking at the ranking. He then noticed the score of the first ranker, the font enlarged to the extent even he could clearly spot it.

[Rank 1—Rakh Veera: 2,45,579 Credits]

Jyorta sucked in a deep breath, feeling a stifling sensation, forgetting to exhale. He had met Rakh a couple of times in the cafeteria, his eccentric character imprinting a vivid impression on him.

The score was unfathomable to Jyorta, even though he himself had set a record of twelve thousand Credits. But, that was using his knowledge accumulations worth two lifetimes. Even if he used everything he had learnt, he didn’t have the confidence to accumulate half the score through his knowledge.

’The Labyrinth of Frenzy.’ Jyorta recalled the conversation he had shared with him, feeling his head spin. There was a limit to the number of Credits one can accumulate through tests. Moreover, they took time and required significant preparations to obtain a high score.

This implied that Rakh Veera had hunted like a madman in the Labyrinth of Frenzy, managing to accumulate the insane number of credits. Jyorta then gazed below it, squinting his eyes to make out the score of the second ranker.

[Rank 2—Vishen Walta: 1,44,241 Credits]

”A score that would normally have been an impressive sum looks lacklustre as compared to the top-ranked student,” The Warrior boy dropped Jyorta, letting out a sigh. ”Rakh is unbeatable among his peers when it comes to both intellect and battle strength.”

”He’s amazing,” Jyorta remarked, looking at the back of the students who stood before him, hindering his line of sight. They were all taller than him, comprised of warriors.

”Even though I am from the same Batch as him, I don’t even have a tenth of his battle strength, despite our bodies being similarly developed.” The Warrior boy replied, showing a downcast look.

The Wisdom Parasite was capable of Nurturing the physique of Warriors, greatly raising their physical abilities as a whole. But, even then, there was a stark difference between Warriors of the same Tier.

It was a result of the Traits they have obtained, the Skills they have nurtured, and their talent in fighting. These three combined to form differences between Warriors with similarly developed physiques, painting an unbridgeable valley between them.

”If I may ask,” Jyorta sported a look of curiosity, slightly hesitant, evident by his tone. His eyes darted to the backs of the people standing before him, finally settling on the Warrior boy, ”What is your rank and Credit score? If you don’t want to tell, then I won’t probe further.”

”I don’t mind,” The Warrior boy waved his hands. ”Maybe if I too spread rumours about myself, the resulting pressure would have made me take a do-or-die approach, possibly netting me more credits.”

He sighed, glancing at Jyorta’s face, noticing his curiosity, ”I am 6th in rank, having accumulated 1,29,653 Credits.”

”That is amazing,” Jyorta exclaimed, his tone sincere.

”It would have been something to be proud about,” The Warrior boy shook his head, ”That is in the case Rakh Veera hadn’t belonged to my Batch. But now, it is like he worked hard while the rest of us took it easy, wasting the resources. Moreover, this isn’t the final score.”

Just when Jyorta was about to inquire further, the cheers from the crowd elevated to a new zenith, their shouts deafening. The Warrior boy crouched low, accumulating strength in his legs, his position contracted around his centre of mass.

Followed by a faint gust of wind, he jumped up, his line of sight easily surpassing 3 metres. He then noticed the change in the score, his expression further scrunching up. Without speaking another word, he lifted Jyorta, allowing him to see the updated score, the timer affixed next to it striking noon.

[Rank 1—Rakh Veera: 2,51,217 Credits]

”An increment of almost six thousand credits,” Jyorta murmured, stupefied beyond words. After experiencing many things over his life in this world, he felt like he wouldn’t be flustered on trivial things but, reality overturned his views.

He felt a myriad of emotions, seeing the letters flashing in a golden hue, their size taking up most of the ranking display. Suddenly, Madam Mila appeared above the White Building, emitting a dense flux of psychic energy, turning it yellow.

’Rakh Veera: 2,51,217 Credits’

Jyorta looked at the words that appeared in the air, made afloat by psychic energy, the font length surpassing 100 metres, looking extremely eye-catching. Immediately, there was a commotion from the right extreme of the crowd, situated next to the Red Building from the Rhachis Block.

”Come with me,” The Warrior boy carried Jyorta in his arms, weaving through the crowd, dashing towards the source of the commotion. Soon, the two of them arrived next to the entrance of the Red Building, coming into contact with a psychic barrier.

It was erected by the ground staff, creating a 20 metre wide path from the building entrance, trailing through the crowd, barring entry. Jyorta touched the barrier with his hands, feeling the dense amount of psychic energy infused into it, noticing the suffocating aura permeating within it, intent to retaliate should anyone serve to intrude.

Suddenly, noticing the action from Madam Mila—hovering 10 metres above the opened path—the crowd turned silent, looking at the building entrance with bated breaths. A minute later, the sounds of footsteps echoed across the ground, amplified by Madam Mila, audible to every student present.

The sounds soon intensified, forming the shadow of a boy, his frame thin, similar to an Esper. Madam Mila created a screen in yellow—20 metres high and 10 metres wide—above the path, displaying the image for the rest of the crowd to witness.

A bloodied figure walked out, the footsteps unsynchronised, looking tipsy. Lacking an arm and sporting grave injuries that were bone-deep all across his body, the figure walked out, carried forward by sheer willpower.

His armour was in tatters, the region around his groin being the only piece intact, looking on the verge of crumbling down. With a dazed look, the figure took two steps forward, a smile of satisfaction etched on his face.

Madam Mary arrived before him, controlling the generated winds with her psychic energy, calming them down. She created a stream of fluid, emitting a pale blue hue, hurriedly infusing it into the boy, her face beaming with pride, ”You did well, Cadet.”

”Haha,” The boy raised his hand, showcasing a broken shaft—40 centimetres in length, its top and bottom edges rugged, filled with barely connected shards—of what remained of his spear.

He then felt a bit of energy entering him, thanks to the healing treatment. He exerted strength in his voice, opening his mouth, shouting out his emotions. Madam Mila silently amplified his voice using her psychic energy, intending for everyone to hear it loud and clear.

”First!”