18 M1911

It's been a day or so since the debate. In that time, I have realized the truth in a grand revelation.

It was right in front of my face the entire time. Frankly, I'm baffled as to how I missed it.

Well, not really. It was purposeful misdirection - the machinations of Satan intended to weaken the Church and sow dissent within the ranks of the clergy. While I am indeed ashamed for temporarily losing my way - getting caught up in lies and the mindless drivel flying from one side to the other like some impotent historian or falsely 'intellectual' scholar - I mustn't be too harsh on myself.

I fell to the Achilles' heel of all great minds: foolish prattle, specifically the kind that distracts a determined man from truly important matters. Just like the ancient philosophers of our world, I stupidly favored ineffectual theoretics over the might of proper practicality, squandering my God-given intellect.

Again, I have since corrected such abstract idiocy, replacing it with an objective fact that is not subject to the calculated devilishness of the classical spellcraft debate - rather, it is based upon properly comprehended scripture and theological beliefs, with no wiggle room for the imbecility to worm its way in.

It's quite obvious after proper soul-searching, really. I use the concept of righteous, faithful men not being subject to the typical scapegoating of secular morality in daily life, hence my personal disappointment in myself at having forsaken it in the matters of spellcraft.

To quote myself, 'When a man believes in God, his soul becomes immortal. An immortal soul has no fear of Hell, no fear of nothingness after a lifetime of suffering; I will be welcomed into Heaven's gates upon death, escorted by the Angels themselves to an eternity of satisfaction and joy.'

Such a ridiculously simple concept - I have nothing to fear, even if I used Magic. It's more of a benefit with no strings attached, really - I get to properly serve the Sovereign Lord by eradicating sinners and demons with no Satanic influence dictating my decisions.

I can tell that Lucifer tries his hardest to keep this distractful debate ongoing, with a majority of the Church having fallen to his wicked ways - all ignorant of the fact that the Devil himself has the most to benefit from their willingly imposed weakness. Imagine if everyone used Magic - the snake would be crushed once again.

Even disregarding the obviously Machiavellian schemes of the Devil, the topic seems to be unnecessarily nuanced, to the point where whether or not it's necessarily heretical is essentially a matter of opinion. With the conflicting points and evidence, nothing can be necessarily proven, and the Lord, following the doctrine of free will, no longer interrupts the theological musings of His children to crudely tell us the answer.

And, as such, we're left with two sides, both of which generally regurgitate the same arguments over and over in a screaming match. It's pitiful. I would never be reduced to such a state, and I realized such while digesting what I'd heard that day of the debate.

So, I abandoned that path of argument and returned to the essence of my existence and dogma.

Others may not have the faith required to justify themselves, but I do. I have faith in the Lord, faith in my morality, and faith in my faith itself - the fact that so many others do not is sickening.

I may not have done so yet, as much of a shame it is, but I know that my heart will feel neither the dull ache of regret nor the unavailing pang of sorrow upon butchering the archfiends of hell. Why would I feel such abhorrent sympathy for heathens and transgressors? Why would I fear for my entrance to paradise when I am simply imposing God's will upon this world?

While everyone else is embroiled in a war of semantics, the Chosen One is meant to keep his unfaltering drive and pursue humanity's true goal.

If spellcraft can further that true goal, who is to disparage its usage? Am I meant to snivel and sob for every pitiable, self-proclaimed 'philosopher; and 'theologian' unable to accept the truth?

To summarize, I pray before sleeping every night; as such, I have no fear for my inevitable ascension. If only my brethren could do the same.

No wonder God has taken away the blessing that was imposed upon the antediluvians. Even many millennia ago, humanity disappointed Him and strayed from their intended path - just as they do now.

"Did you go deaf?"

"Huh?"

I was brought out of my mindscape by Leonidas chewing on a muffin.

"Joseph is calling for you," Leonidas continued, still munching on his baked goods. After finishing with his at least forty centimeter tall muffin, he moved onto a cookie with a similar diameter. "Your trainer is here, apparently. I know him. Not too bad of a guy, although he's very serious. His fighting style and methods of completing his assignments are controversial, but they're undeniably effective. You could learn a lot."

He paused for a few seconds, continuing to eat his desserts.

"Would you like me to drop you out of the window, or do you want to exit the normal way?"

We're on the fourth floor…?

Leonidas is quite strange these days.

"I'll leave like a civil man," I said, standing up and glancing at the bakery shop windows' worth of food on his plate. "You're going to eat all of that?"

"Want some?"

"No. I'm not as gluttonous as you."

"Why ask then?"

I had no answer - and so began walking away.

Although, he had one more thing to say before I left.

"You might get confused, so I'll just tell you now," he shouted after me. "Spellcraft is the usage of Basic Magic, and sorcery is the usage of Advanced - AKA Circular - Magic. Just so you know."

He turned to the other doorway in the room.

"Pietro! Enough dessert - give me some main dishes!"

You would never think that this man snacks whenever he could. I suppose he gave up on trying to seem in possession of respectable self-restraint, because a few days ago, he began devouring meals' worth of food while doing anything - lecturing, waiting around… Hm. I suppose it's because he has nothing else to do.

Pietro seems happy with it, though. I suppose most people here don't have much to do other than their jobs, which don't really consist of much if they're here.

Anyway, as I left the castle - which I still haven't fully explored, even after a week - I hoped my trainer wouldn't be insufferable.

I'd prefer him to be either so bad that I can request a replacement, or amiable and capable enough that there's no need for any complaints. A trainer in the middle ground would be a nightmare - not incompetent nor unhospitable enough for me to justifiably excoriate, but not good enough in either aspect that I'm satisfied.

In such a situation, I'd probably just go to Leonidas for whatever non-Magic training I have. This person is apparently gifted enough in Magic and combat that he can train me in both, and he's been vouched for by our two resident Exorcists, so it seems his competency won't be an issue.

Which is to be expected. I am the Chosen One, after all; giving me anything less than the best would be disrespectful.

His skills are most likely not an issue, then - now it's just his personality that must be verified.

Leonidas stated him to be 'very serious', which I will interpret as being professional - a point in his favor.

Having ignored any servants who crossed my path, I reached the front door and walked out.

I had to watch my step, however, as I nearly stomped on Priska's face. Not that it would matter to me, but I don't think it would help with speeding up her training..

It's been maybe a week since she began training, and even though Joseph has been racking up favors with a certain healer to occasionally mend her muscular microtears - significantly speeding up the process - it simply hasn't been enough. She isn't even a quarter of the way to finishing physical fundamentals training yet.

Representative of her uselessness in comparison to me, I suppose.

"Hah… Hah… Watch your… step… cretin… Hah…"

After nearly trampling - and ignoring - Priska, who was catching her breath on the patio in front of the door, I went to where Joseph and another man - presumably my trainer - were conversing.

Well, less so conversing and more so Joseph blabbing while the other man ignored him.

Before I could even greet the man, he turned to me and uttered two words: "Follow me."

What a sociable and courteous teacher. Is every person I meet destined to be dysfunctional in some way?

I did as he asked, following him to… I'm not sure exactly where, but it was definitely a place behind the castle - perhaps that exceptionally large grove I never bothered going into? Regardless, as I walked, I couldn't help but inspect him.

Dirty, short blond hair, a stern expression, light blue eyes, a strong jawline, some slight stubble, and a bulky frame - he was a little bit shorter than me, but I could tell he was stronger.

What's most strange was the two huge guns holstered on his back. His demeanor and… choice of weapon made his priest robes look unbefitting - imagining him in the 'battle priest' uniform, as I had dubbed it, was much easier.

Imagining him in an officer's uniform was even easier.

Also, if he commonly carries around weaponry like the monstrosities on his back, I wonder what's in that bag he has.

"What is your name?" I asked, speeding up to walk next to him. "Nobody told me."

"Just as I had asked them to. For now, you will call me 'Instructor'. If I deem you worthy, I'll tell you my name."

"And how do I prove myself 'worthy'?"

"Be patient."

Tsk.

We continued in relative silence from there, as I saw no need to introduce myself to someone who obviously already knew everything relevant, and he refused to tell me anything until I'd 'proved my worth'.

Despite the obvious fact that I'm more worthy than this dirty vagrant - at least in the eyes of God.

Although, I don't really get the point behind refusing to tell me his name - I could just ask others for it if I 'fail'. Or maybe he has a reputation and others wouldn't want to cross him by doing so?

Perhaps, perhaps not. It may simply be that the people I have contact with are complicit, or that he doesn't really care that much about me finding out his name. It doesn't particularly matter to me, and my interactions with this supernatural world has taught me that overspeculation is unnecessary and leads to ridiculously complicated conclusions - which tend to be false.

I'll just ask something and try to divert the conversation to the topic of what his 'contingency' is.

"Why do you instate a requirement to be taught? Isn't this an assignment for you?" I questioned.

Better to have my doubts answered than to proceed in silence.

"It is not a requirement to be taught," he replied, not bothering to turn his head. "This is indeed an assignment. I will be teaching you either way. You may have certain inane theories on why, but I doubt any are fully correct, as the truth is more simple than what an idle mind conjures up - it's a symbol of acknowledgement. You may ask others for my name, if you so wish, but keeping my name from you isn't so important to me. It is the action itself."

"And, again, how would I earn that acknowledgement?"

He faced towards me this time, face still impassive. "I already told you to be patient."

Be like that, then. I don't need instructions to do something so simple anyway.

By now, we'd reached the grove in our backyard - and had in fact gone a decent depth into it. He set down his sack. Peeking at the top, I saw… grenades, an axe, bullets, and a few books, not to mention whatever's in its deepest recesses.

Quite a strange to-go bag.

"Normally, I wouldn't have spoken to you at all throughout that trip, but I've been told your mood is fickle," he said, pulling out the axe. "While that is something that I dislike and believe should be remedied, I've similarly been told that you are indeed faithful."

He held out the axe handle to me.

"I will give you a chance," he stated. "Begin cutting down a tree."

What a pointless act. Why does everyone here behave like a lunatic?

Regardless, I took the axe - which was lighter than I expected - and began hacking away at a tree nearby.

"And what is the point of this?" I asked, cleaving through the wood. "I don't think woodsman skills are an accurate measure of faith."

"Just cut the tree."

"Again, why? I see no use in being excessively cryptic."

Rather than answering, he grabbed a bayonet out of his bag…

…and it sliced through the tree like butter. He didn't even put effort into the movements - the blade just glided through its obstacle. Although, it wasn't an actual sword - more so a long knife, like most bayonets - so he had to bring it around the tree's circumference a few times.

The tree fell away from us, shaking the ground, and he sat down on the stump it made.

"Firstly, you must know that I have only been nominated as a candidate for your trainer because of your interest in Magic, yes?"

I nodded, halfway through my foe's trunk.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

He did that on purpose to increase the 'impact' of his words. What a cheap trick.

"Why do you practice Magic, despite the common opinion being that it is heresy?"

I stopped my swings, turned to look at him, and then returned to my task.

"I have nothing to fear. God is benevolent, and He would never forsake one of his children because of their desire to righteously serve Him. Is He to place more importance on heathen scum than on believers such as myself?"

I'd rather not launch into a longer explanation, but that is the gist of it. He need not know of how faithful men, in my opinion, cannot sin - that is more of a personal doctrine, and he may or may not be a servant of Satan who would decry me for displaying proper faith.

I doubt he is, but I haven't lost my cautious nature in a measly one or two weeks outside of my normal life - better safe than sorry.

Perhaps it would be better to out him as a demon worshipper, though. If he would indeed chastise me for my commonsense beliefs, it would be shameful to be under his tutelage.

I'll give him a chance. I can always enact my makeshift 'exam' at another time.

"A good answer," he replied, face still neutral. "My personal outlook is differing, more similar to that of the Crusaders - that a man's sins will be pardoned for slaying the infidels - but it's pleasing to see that you don't subscribe to either of the common arguments. Rather, you focus on true inner theological thought, rather than the speculative musings of the masses. Whether or not spellcraft is heretical is, quite literally, up to debate - but as a practitioner, I don't believe it to be heresy, despite the fact that I wouldn't mind either way."

"And why is that?" I asked, hearing telltale creakings of a tree's fall. I stepped back and watched it crash to the ground, tearing its own trunk apart in the process.

I have been taught the art of felling, and so I have positioned its fall to avoid any other conifers, evergreens or saplings in this grove.

"Good positioning," he noted. "And the reason why is something you will only truly take in upon actually casting a spell, but it's not as if I'm unable to put it in words. It's quite simple - using Basic Magic is literally a part of us, its main mechanism biologically ingrained. You can't very well do Basic Magic without it."

"What is the mechanism you speak of? And should I begin on another tree?"

"No," he said, pulling his bag to his position. "You had felled the tree in around a minute - acceptable. I didn't expect you to properly position its fall, but it's a pleasant surprise. Now," he pulled a… handgun out of the sack, "try using this. Oh, and the magical mechanism I mentioned is the mental mold. You'll get what I mean upon reading these." He gestured toward a few tomes wrapped in leather, all of which were still in his bag.

Hopefully they're written in Latin, but it doesn't matter either way. I have learned German, English, Spanish, Greek, and Italian in the past few days - all thanks to the language initiation 'ritual' which Alessandro mentioned when I first met him [1] - so I'll be able to read them anyway.

At least, unless they're in Aramaic or something equally arcane - like Hebrew. I doubt he'd bring them if that was the case, though.

"Catch."

I did indeed catch the firearm thrown at me, praying that I wouldn't up accidentally shoot myself by doing so - as well as that the safety was on - and began to inspect it.

"How do I shoot this? What even is it?"

"American-made. It is called an M1911. I'd say it's more than reliable enough to use and also looks much more… aesthetic, I suppose."

He was left unfazed at the strange look I gave him.

"It is not what I use, since the bullets are more of a hassle to acquire than the ones used here, but I will admit that it's one of my preferred weapons. Either way, the safety is off - all you need to do is cock it and pull the trigger."

"Cock it?"

"Pull the thing at the top back."

I did so, and nothing happened.

"Pull it back a bit more than that."

I did so, and I heard a distinctive 'click'.

"You're not supposed to know how to shoot well. This is a simple exercise. Put your dominant hand on the handle, then your other hand on the other side, stretch your arms out, and pull the trigger."

I did so, and while the knockback was unexpected, I didn't really feel all that much. I wasn't aiming at any particular spot, simply doing as he said - aimlessly discharging the gun - so I didn't get to see the impact it left.

"Am I correct in assuming that was your first time handling a firearm?"

"Yes."

My father had one, but he died before ever teaching me how to shoot. I've never found that Korovin to this day. Perhaps he had it on him in his last moments.

"Your form was terrible, but, again, it was more of a test of strength. The only thing that shifted your stance was your own shock at firing - a testament to your strength, I suppose. I'd appreciate that back now."

I threw the gun back at him, and he accepted it.

"Now watch this."

He pulled out a bullet from his bag - rather than using any of the ones stored inside the magazine - pulled back the thing at the top, and stuffed his 'special' bullet into the little hole, letting it snap back right after.

He aimed it at the tree I had cut down and fired.

I closed my eyes at the sudden blast of wind and heat that assaulted me, opening them back up a second later.

A decent four meters' worth of wood had been reduced to nothingness, leaving a gap between the other two sides of the tree, both of which had been pushed back by the aftershock of the explosion - not to mention how there was a distinct crater left in the earth.

"And if I was impaled by a shard of shrapnel?" I asked, suddenly conscious of the wooden splinters that rained down everywhere.

"Do you have a problem with this?" he asked, ignoring my question. "It's essentially a war crime for Magicians. I've been hunted down by them for it and was disciplined by the Church itself when I first started out - apparently for causing friction between a few Magician organizations and the Papacy."

"I don't particularly care. Why would I?" I asked back, smiling at the aftermath of his 'attack'. "I could eradicate Devils ten times more efficiently with such a thing, even if it was a mere ace in the hole rather than a main method of combat. I'm ecstatic at the possibilities this opens up - Light Swords never sounded like they would fit me. Creatures of the night will fear my name."

He nodded, moving on.

"You do know that Devils, Vampires, and other such monsters aren't the only things you'll be going after, correct?"

"I don't mind executing living, blasphemous affronts to the dignity of mankind - a true human would follow and worship his creator, gladly doing as He asks," I responded, waving off his pointless question - one with an insulting implication that I'd ever hesitate at performing my obligations.

I sighed - not at the man in question, surprisingly enough, but that the state of humanity has degenerated to the point where he must worry about such things. Truly shameful.

"I'd rejoice over it, in fact. There is no point in continuing this interrogation further. You wish to see whether or not I have the determination to prosper under your tutelage and properly execute my duties - both of which I will do, the latter with joy and no hesitation. Going off your alleged 'Crusader mindset', you already agree with everything I've said. I will gloriously serve the Lord, you can have no doubt about that."

I turned to him.

"I simply need your help to do so."

Well, not really - the word 'need' has a very subjective usage. I'd just… prefer his help - he appears to focus on firearms, which is what I believe to be the 'controversy' behind his fighting style that Leonidas mentioned.

Personally, I don't see the point in crying over it. Why not use such effective methods? I can stay safe from a distance, consuming minimal Holy Energy and letting Priska take the brunt of any attacks, while using guns and such.

Maybe he'll even teach other, similarly effective means - they might be just as 'unconventional' in the eyes of other Exorcists, if Leonidas' lectures are to be believed, but that doesn't matter. Those false believers and scapegoaters can be as single-minded as they wish, directly battling their foes, while I rack up a kill count in the hundreds using firearms, explosives, chemical warfare, trap-setting, and Magic.

If firearms and Magic aren't off the table, what's to keep me from whipping out an anti-tank armament and destroying any Devil stronghold I come across? If I can transport it, even an artillery gun isn't impossible.

"Well?" I asked, still expecting an answer.

Rather than responding, he put the gun and axe back into his bag and pulled out the books I'd seen.

"Well, you'd be correct on all accounts. My name is Wojchiech Blazkowicz. The woodcutting was to see whether or not you'd follow my instructions without complaint, and the handgun was to see whether or not you'd be up to employing such methods - which you apparently are. The questions were quite blatant in nature, though - you'll have to forgive me for that."

He sniffed.

"Truthfully, none of this mattered because I'd likely have been forced to teach you regardless - although I did hope to convince you that you should request a new mentor, should this not have worked out. But that's not important. This was simply an exercise to see whether or not this will be a mutually enjoyable tutelage, which I believe it will be."

Wojchiech pulled out the leatherbound tomes in his sack, offering them to me.

I took the three books - titled 'The Mechanics of Spellcraft: Spellcasting', 'The Mechanics of Spellcraft: The Nature of Mana', and 'The Mechanics of Spellcraft: A History', respectively - which, oddly enough, all had the author's name redacted. There was a 'By' at the bottom, but on every one, the word following 'By' was torn out.

Strange, but I won't complain over the little things. I actually appreciate this method - learning the theoretics on my own and then training the practical matters with my 'tutor' would be a most effective use of our time. If I don't understand anything - which I doubt, with my amazing brainpower - I can just ask Wojchiech.

"You seem to be a bearable teacher - at the very least, you most likely know what you're doing."

That's the most kind compliment I'm willing to give out.

"I would like to ask a hypothetical question, however," he said.

"Oh?"

"Say that there was a button in front of you that would eradicate every other pantheon in existence, every unbeliever, every heretic, every Devil and Vampire and false prophet and false god, every denier of the Lord God. Would you press it?"

"Of course."

"You're already better than my last student, then. He said no, spouting some drivel about how needless bloodshed is barbaric and that coexistence is more than possible. I had to come up with a method to be rid of that wastrel."

"And your plan was?"

"Accidentally blowing up the bottom of a tree, the trunk of which crushed him on its way down."

I smiled. "I think we'll get along well."

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[1] It was in chapter three. He said something like, 'We learn languages through the Church. You get the base languages plus one extra of your choice when you start out.' I also forgot about this part, so I wouldn't be surprised if everyone else did as well.

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Wojchiech 'Blazkowicz'... hmm…

Totally not a reference to the main character of Wolfenstein, William Joseph "B.J." Blazkowicz, pictured in this paragraph's comment.

The guns are slightly different - less duct-taped together - and as much as I wanted to have him wear the clothes in the picture while he does assignments, it just wouldn't make sense. A shame, because they're cool.

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