Chapter 12: Eta-Level Psychic

Not understanding? What can you do?

The situation was stronger than man; even though Butcher had a thousand curses in his heart, he could only swallow them all.

“I… I understand. I understand very well.” He forced a grotesque smile, holding back a storm of rage, and said with a strained grin: “The goods have been handed over. As agreed, you should tell me Rebecca’s location now, right?”

“According to the agreement, we trade the fifth compound for your wife’s whereabouts.”

Alvin curled his finger; the remaining vials flew to him. With Butcher’s hopeful gaze fixed on him, Alvin deliberately sighed: “But… you should understand what ‘but’ means, right?”

“You lied to me? You bastard! You promised me!”

Hearing the word “but,” Butcher’s heart turned icy. He roared like a mad bull, frenzied and wild.

“No, no, no, I think you’ve misunderstood, Mr. Butcher.”

Alvin shook his head calmly: “I’m merely telling you these vials contain temporary fifth compound—barely even ‘inferior grade.’ They don’t meet our agreement’s terms.”

“Temporary fifth compound? What does that mean?” Butcher, his rage momentarily cooled, asked sharply.

“It means these vials of fifth compound can grant superpowers—but only for twenty-four hours.” Alvin sighed lightly, feigning regret: “Therefore, I cannot reveal your wife’s exact location. But as compensation, I can give you one clue.”

Butcher calmed down. He knew the man had done this on purpose, but with his weakness in hand, he had no choice but to endure: “Fine. One clue is better than nothing!”

“Walter Group. Dr. Vogelbaum.”

Alvin turned and slowly walked out of the factory, his voice echoing inside: “When you find the complete ‘fifth compound,’ come back and trade with me.”

Only when his figure vanished completely did the factory’s icy chill begin to warm slightly.

Butcher, regaining mobility, veins bulging on his forehead, eyes bloodshot, glared at the direction Alvin had left: “Next time, I’ll make you—”

Alvin used his last few dollars to check into a cheap hotel.

The advantage was its proximity to Walter—direct observation of the group’s surroundings. The downside was its deplorable hygiene.

Still, to a scavenger from the Lower Nest, it was already luxurious.

“Is this, in some sense, crying without tears?”

Alvin rubbed his throbbing temples, struggling to contain the power so it wouldn’t leak out: “I never expected my awakened ability… would be psychic energy.”

The sudden drop in temperature inside the factory, the frost coating the floor and equipment, the deep blue flames and lightning when he used his power—

All unmistakably pointed to the most feared force in the Warhammer universe… psychic energy!

Psychics are either the only genuine blessing from the Warp, or humanity’s deepest curse!

Every psychic, when fighting, projects their soul into the Warp—and becomes a blazing flame!

To the demons lurking in the Warp, psychics are like blinding beacons, drawing endless demons eager to devour their soul-projections in the Warp!

And the status and living conditions of most psychics? In one sentence: worse than scavengers in the Lower Nest!

Under the Imperium’s oppressive policies, illegal psychics are extremely dangerous—easily marked by Warp gods, becoming walking nuclear bombs.

The Imperium constantly deploys vast fleets of Black Ships to patrol worlds, hunting, capturing, or collecting psychics!

Then, either they’re sent to the Throne World to be burned as fuel for the Astronomican… or imprisoned until death.

Alvin didn’t want to be dragged to the Throne Hall and burned like firewood. Nor did he want to meet a fanatical Inquisitor who’d slice him into mincemeat.

So only one path remained before him.

Learn to control his psychic energy—and hide his identity as a psychic!

“According to the Imperium’s 24-tier classification, I’m an ‘Eta-level’ psychic.” Alvin exhaled, suddenly feeling relieved.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to grow stronger—higher tiers like Zeta and Epsilon, once detected, would trigger strict Imperial control.

And the more powerful the psychic, the larger and hotter their soul-projection in the Warp—making them far more likely to attract the attention of the Chaos Gods!

So, in a way, Alvin was genuinely glad he remained at a relatively safe level.

At least he wouldn’t draw the attention of the Chaos Gods, the Inquisition, or the Astropathic Choir.

“Next, it’s Walter Corporation’s turn.”

Alvin looked out the window at the beautiful night view, glanced at his watch: “Hmm. Time’s up.”

He knew Walter Group would never risk letting the Patriot contact someone who knew his past—so he needed to add more fuel.

He opened Twitter—and sure enough, a video had been instantly pinned to the top.

The video was simple: it featured the “Jigsaw” persona, mentioned the fifth compound and partial background of the Patriot, and issued a final ultimatum—within twenty-four hours, if the Patriot didn’t rescue the Invisible Man, it would release all remaining content!

Though Walter reacted quickly and deleted the video, he had multiple backups—and scheduled them to post from multiple IP addresses.

Soon, Walter Group would be desperate. After all, the Patriot’s identity and the fifth compound were their greatest secrets—their lifeline.

Alvin briefly replied to a few messages from Starlight, then lay down to rest.

Across the street, Walter Corporation would have many sleepless nights.

The sudden Twitter storm caused the company’s stock to plummet, evaporating billions in value overnight. Vice President Madeline was nearly driven mad.

“Find him! At any cost, find this bastard!” The woman who always masked herself with sharp competence now screamed hysterically, wild with rage: “I don’t care how you do it—find him now! Do you hear me?!”

Ashley silently endured the vice president’s fury, water dripping from her face, trembling: “Yes, we’ll find him as soon as possible.”

At that moment, the Patriot pushed the door open and coldly scanned Ashley: “You. Out.”

Ashley glanced fearfully at Madeline, who crossed her arms and waved her off like shooing away bad luck: “Get out. I can’t stand looking at your stupid face!”

Ashley, as if rescued, bowed her head and hurried out.

Once the door closed, the Patriot turned to Madeline, a flicker of longing in his eyes—quickly masked as he said firmly: “I should handle this. No one is more suited than me.”

“No, no, no—you absolutely cannot go!”

Madeline shook her head firmly, pointing at the Patriot, raising her voice: “Listen carefully! We’ll handle this. You stay right here. Don’t go anywhere!”

“Who else is more suited?”

The Patriot, furious, his face twisted into a monstrous snarl, no trace of heroism left, roared: “You know damn well, Madeline—that man knows my past. If I don’t go, all of America will see what I really was!”

Just moments ago, after the Twitter video spread, the Patriot’s approval rating dropped ten percent!

That was what terrified him—once the public learned he’d been controlled since childhood, raised in that environment, his support would collapse completely.

“Listen—you’re not going. It’s company policy!”

Madeline couldn’t explain the truth—she feared the Patriot losing control. So she softened her tone, opening her arms as she always had: “Come here, John. Come to my arms.”

The Patriot’s throat tightened. He swallowed, then stepped forward slowly.

Madeline embraced him like a newborn infant, gently lifting his outer shirt.

The Patriot greedily sucked on Thunder, his face relaxing into satisfaction.

“Good. That’s right, John.”

Madeline closed her eyes, stroking the Patriot in her arms.

Yet she never noticed the monstrous expression on his face—or the rebellion and malice flashing in his eyes.