Zhou Yun barely hesitated as he flung open the linen robe and yanked the stopper from the gourd.
"Stand where you are!!" The voice of the Ark Gang's kyōshu suddenly rose in pitch, her powerful psionic energy carried through her voice directly striking Zhou Yun's mind. Psykers could project their mental force through sound, unleashing a beguiling, commanding tone capable of manipulating hearts and bodies.
This was a common psionic technique, and the Ark kyōshu was clearly a master of it. The authoritative, insidious sound echoed in Zhou Yun's skull, and his body froze on the spot under its sway for a brief moment.
But he had already pulled the stopper on the Pocket Tornado.
A gray-black whirlwind howled forth from the gourd, instantly swelling and filling the entire hallway. The storm was like knives and hammers; the Ark kyōshu immediately faltered, her focus wavering.
Zhou Yun seized that instant to regain control of his body.
He raised the Pocket Tornado high and unleashed an even fiercer gale into the narrow corridor. A wind strong enough to flatten a small house rampaged through the hallway barely wide enough for three people abreast. Everything before Zhou Yun was swallowed in gray-black, and even the kyōshu's figure was engulfed. The wind lashed his own face with pain, forcing his eyes shut, and the windows along the hall shattered under the pressure, wall plaster raining down.
Hurriedly, Zhou Yun pulled his Psychic Cap from his four-dimensional pocket and set it atop his head.
He focused his mind—and his figure vanished from the corridor.
When he opened his eyes again, Zhou Yun was standing in the small courtyard outside the building.
The Ark members in the yard were startled by his sudden appearance and drew weapons from beneath their robes.
But Zhou Yun swept his gaze over them—and the mechanical arm above swept too.
Boom!
It was as if invisible giant hands struck them in the chest. The Ark members crumpled in unison, knocked out on the spot.
Zhou Yun looked up at the second-floor corridor. The black whirlwind he'd unleashed from the Pocket Tornado still filled the hallway. The walls of the building trembled under the pressure, windows shattering one after another, until finally the corridor's wall could hold no more and was torn apart by the wind, splintered wood pulp, cheap plasteel, and brick flying everywhere.
"Huuhhh!!"
A gasp of breath echoed from within the storm, thick with anger.
"You assassin in human skin! Are you a lackey of the stellar devils?!"
A clear female voice, in her twenties, pierced through the winds, burning with fury.
The whirlwind began to sway. That storm, strong enough to topple a house, was like a ball of gray-black clay being grasped by invisible hands—then hurled back toward Zhou Yun.
Zhou Yun calmly revealed the gourd beneath his robe. The rampaging storm instantly unraveled into gentle breezes and was sucked back into the Pocket Tornado.
Zhou Yun looked toward the corridor.
The wall was completely ripped open now, leaving a car-sized hole. The Ark kyōshu stood in the gap, glaring down at Zhou Yun.
The wind had blown back her hood, revealing her true face: a woman in her twenties, features somewhere between East Pacific and Europa, eyes dark with a faint navy sheen hinting at her psionic power. Her waist-length black hair glinted, and a series of Low Gothic letters tattooed on her left cheek peeked out from beneath it.
From this distance, Zhou Yun couldn't make out the characters clearly, nor could he yet tell if she was truly a Genestealer.
The kyōshu of a Genestealer cult was often the most human-looking of all, and only close inspection could reveal the truth. But she clearly had no intention of giving Zhou Yun the time to inspect her.
Her pupils contracted, the dark-blue deepening. The air grew cold, frost condensing on walls, floor, and even in midair against all physical laws.
"Stand where you are!" she barked again, her psionic command filled with authority and insidious influence.
Frost spread across the ground like a thorny bramble toward Zhou Yun.
But Zhou Yun, already prepared, clutched his spinning head, gritted his teeth, and forced himself through the mental assault.
He focused his attention on a spot just behind the kyōshu—and his figure vanished again.
The Ark kyōshu froze. She hadn't expected him to resist her beguiling voice even once. Without tremendous willpower, long training, and psychic resistance, no ordinary person should be able to shrug off her honed mental technique so easily.
Boom!!
Before she could process how he'd done it, a heavy impact struck her back like a pneumatic hammer.
She lost her balance and tumbled from the second-floor gap, falling toward the ground.
She barely managed to steady herself with a burst of psychic power to slow her descent.
Landing, she glared up at Zhou Yun and poured all her will into a single shout: "Get down here!!!"
But this time, Zhou Yun only shook his head faintly, as though unaffected.
The kyōshu gaped.
"What the hell are you?! You can resist my beguiling voice?!"
"This psychic resistance—what is this?!"
She could feel he hadn't been trained in mental resilience, nor was he himself a psyker. He was withstanding her beguiling voice purely through willpower and his own psychic resistance.
But how could a non-psyker have such resistance?! Unless some tremendously powerful psyker had been hammering his mind with constant intrusive will from the very beginning, toughening his spirit through endless torment—only then could a normal person build up the fortitude to resist her power.
Zhou Yun cast a glance at the winged figure of white light hovering in his mind and faintly realized the source of his resistance.
From the moment he'd arrived in this world, this so-called Sanguinius had been projecting his will into Zhou Yun's spirit, forging it constantly.
The process was much the same as her beguiling voice.
Compared to bathing daily in the vast ocean of Sanguinius's will, her petty trick was nothing more than a drop of water.
"Feels weaker than the archangel…psionics," Zhou Yun said seriously, looking at her.
(End of Chapter)
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