'If Sergeant Jagger wants me to show the three basic disciplines, then I will show him! I will prove myself to this squad!'
Zemin moved with grace, using telekinesis and his own muscles in perfect tandem to approach the training mecha. After an attack, it paused with its front legs outstretched—it was the time to strike.
Zemin jumped in front of the mecha, only a meter away from its metal teeth, and pointed his hand at the joint of the mecha's right front leg.
An invisible pulse of Psi-energy flew from his fingers. The further away from Zemin, the more Psi-energy dissolved in the surroundings, and that was why Zemin got so close.
The flow of Psi-energy seeped into the joint and turned into pure heat. In a blink of an eye, the black metal turned red-hot.
That was the discipline of Pyromancy.
Citri tried to move the injured leg of the mecha out of the way, but it was too late. The metal creaked, and instead of leaping away, the mecha stumbled and fell.
"Ouch! That was a good one, Zemin!" she shouted. "But I can move my baby on three legs!"
Even if he conserved energy, he still spent too much. Zemin felt his chest constricting at the thought that he will have to open yet another Void Portal at some point soon.
He shook that thought away and ran up to the fallen mecha. Too slow—it leaped to its feet and met him with a scorpion-like swing of its tail claw.
This time, Zemin acted before thinking, shoving the tail-claw to the side with telekinesis. It struck the ground, throwing bits of dirt around.
Zemin didn't need a reminder to know that this cost him more energy than dodging. But now the mecha was wide-open again, and he didn't hesitate to send an impulse of Psi-power into its left front leg.
This time, it froze instead of heating. The metal immediately grew covered in rime. Now, any moderate impact—even one from bending this joint—would break it.
Zemin tensed, about to move away from the mecha for a moment and prepare for a finishing attack, when the mecha froze in its place and Citri suddenly shouted,
"Stop! Stop, I give up! He won, Sergeant Jagger, Zemin won! But I can't let him harm my baby further, unless you want to stay without a training mecha for the rest of the week!"
Zemin paused, looking at her with wide eyes, but she was already running to her D-5C, which stood exactly the way it did when Zemin hit it: half-crouching on its left front paw, the right one serving like an awkward, unbending support, and the tail still pressed into the ground in front of the mecha.
"Citri, what the hell are you doing?" Jagger frowned. "The point of training mecha is that it can be easily repaired after a spar!"
"Yeeees, but Sergeant Jagger, Zemin was about to break another of these joints," Citri gently brushed the frozen joint and sighed. "And I don't have a second replacement for them! Everybody goes for the joints first, they disappear faster than booze! So, no more joints for you until the next supply shipment comes. Which is in three days."
Danis sighed, threw a dirty look at Zemin—which he felt like he didn't deserve at all—and came up to the girl.
"Can't you make your own, Citri?" Danis asked.
She scratched her cheek awkwardly. "Well… That's not the same as Technomancy at all, and you know it. I've been studying it, but it's a work in progress…"
Jagger shook his head. "Alright, I was about to interrupt the fight, anyway. Zemin did show that he's quite capable… But you all should remember sometimes what discipline is!"
The grumbling of the giant of a man was surprisingly good-natured despite his words. Zemin watched the squad's interaction with great fascination.
The academy taught him the importance of friendship between comrades in arms—it raised morale, and morale was a vital factor in defeating demons—but that didn't mean soldiers could abandon discipline.
'Maybe this is something that's normal for Exemplar squads? They aren't the same as army regiments, after all.'
Zemin approached the sergeant and stood at attention. "I'm ready for your next orders, sir."
Jagger straightened up, too, and nodded at him. "Good. The tests are over for now. Now, everyone! I have something else to talk about with our new comrade, so get to your usual routine. Our period of rest is over, time to train again."
He gestured for Zemin to follow and walked aside to the garage and supply shed that stood at the edge of the training grounds. When they were out of the earshot of other Esquires, he turned to Zemin.
"The references from your academy said that you don't know any other Psionic disciplines besides the basics, but you have… a special power? The way it was described tells me nothing, besides that you were given an 'assault' specialization. What is it, Zemin?"
Words spoken to him several years ago came to Zemin's mind. It was soon after Zemin entered his academy. Angel Makhos came to him to give some last-moment advice.
"Zemin, demons are smart and cunning. They will find and use every advantage over the Holy Dominion they could. Despite all our efforts, there are many of their spies in our midst—some of them demons in disguise, while others are simply poor souls, deceived or pressed into servitude. If one of these people finds out about your special power, you might become a target for demons. So don't tell anyone about it but angels and the people they have declared trustworthy. This includes your comrades in arms… They will be given as much information as they are allowed to know."
Sergeant Jagger definitely didn't look like a spy—but looks could be deceptive.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't tell you more."
Jagger tsked. "Yes, the paper says the same. But I had to try. Squad mates have to trust each other to fight well together, and trust can only come from knowledge! We must know everything about each other up to the color of their underwear!"
'I think it will take much more than just knowledge for you and the others to actually trust my abilities yet,' Zemin thought.