"Psychic Adept?"
Wanda tilted her head, her expression tinged with curiosity. Only now did she realize that Rowan's method of controlling blades through sheer willpower had a formal name. She had always known she could manipulate objects with her powers, but it had never occurred to her to use flying knives in battle.
"That's right," Rowan explained, his tone calm yet instructive. "The way you've been fighting so far is too rough. Using raw telekinetic blasts is powerful, yes, but unfocused. If you learn to channel your energy through weapons say, blades you'll find your combat power becomes much more precise and devastating."
As he spoke, two silver throwing knives rose from a nearby rack and hovered effortlessly into the palms of his hands. With a faint flicker of thought, Rowan extended one knife toward Wanda.
She understood immediately. Crimson light shimmered faintly over her skin as she reached out, and the blade lifted from his palm as though drawn into her aura, floating obediently before her.
"Now," Rowan said, his voice even and steady, "cover the entire blade evenly with your power. Let your will seep into every edge and surface."
Wanda nodded with quiet determination. A faint tremor rippled through the air, and the knife in front of her glowed with a soft red sheen. At first it was unstable, flickering with scattered wisps of power, but slowly it grew denser, more concentrated, wrapping the blade in a seamless layer of scarlet light.
Rowan studied her progress with sharp eyes. Unlike his own invisible psychic force, Wanda's energy manifested visibly in that deep, chaotic crimson. Her gift, he thought, was the reflection of her very nature chaos turned into magic.
"Good," Rowan said. "Now use your full strength. Send it crashing into the wall."
"Yes, Master."
She inhaled deeply, her emerald eyes narrowing with focus as she aimed at the vibranium wall across the chamber. The blade shot forward with a resonant hum, leaving a streak of red light across the air like a comet.
It reminded Rowan of Yondu's arrow from the Guardians of the Galaxy, only far fiercer, imbued with chaotic magic.
The knife slammed into the wall with a deafening crack, and a number blinked onto the digital display embedded in the panel.
17,031 kg.
Rowan raised his brows in genuine surprise. That level of impact was already comparable to a mid-level Psychic Adept someone who had trained for years to reach such mastery. And yet Wanda had only just begun.
Her body was still that of a mid-level warrior at best, but through her telekinetic magic she had reached a level three whole tiers above her physical limits. In ordinary circumstances, such imbalance would be impossible. But with Wanda, imbued with chaos magic, it made perfect sense.
So this was the power of the Scarlet Witch.
"Seventeen thousand kilograms…" Wanda's voice wavered as she stared at the number in disbelief. She hadn't imagined she could unleash so much force with something as simple as a knife.
Rowan smiled faintly, though inside he was deeply impressed. Only an hour of training, and she's already here… If she continues like this, even the strongest warriors in the cosmos will think twice before standing in her way.
Wanda turned her gaze toward him, eyes shimmering with gratitude. She truly believed this strength was born entirely from Rowan's teachings. For so long she had been used as a weapon, controlled and manipulated, never trusted. Now, Rowan had given her something she could call her own. The warmth of that trust swelled inside her heart.
But she restrained herself. She was only his servant, his student. She dared not collapse into his arms, no matter how much her heart ached to.
"Well?" Rowan asked lightly. "Doesn't this feel far stronger than the way you used to fight?"
"Yes!" Wanda nodded rapidly, her crimson hair swaying with the motion. She looked like a child eager for her teacher's praise.
"Good. Now let's see how many knives you can control at once."
Together, they tested further. After several attempts, Wanda found she could maintain three blades simultaneously, each as strong as the single strike she had just unleashed. It was a solid beginning more than enough to deal with most small-scale threats in the galaxy.
Rowan, however, was already thinking ahead. Wanda's growth was astonishing, but she needed discipline. Without refined control, raw power could collapse on itself.
"Sit," he instructed. "I'll show you techniques to train your control."
On the floor of the training chamber, he guided her into a meditative position and began teaching her the first two diagrams of the Celestial Codex. The diagrams were not just exercises they were living patterns of willpower, each teaching the mind to weave, balance, and direct energy with precision.
"I want you to master these two within a month," Rowan told her. His gaze was serious, his tone measured. "Can you do that?"
"I can," Wanda replied firmly, though she had already glimpsed the near-impossible difficulty of the second diagram.
Rowan nodded, satisfied. She had talent, but more importantly, she had the will to push through the impossible. That, he knew, was the essence of greatness.
While Wanda labored through the first diagram, stumbling yet progressing, Rowan's own knives multiplied. Eighteen blades swirled around him in dazzling arcs of sapphire light, crossing and weaving into complex formations. They blurred into streaks of energy, shifting patterns in ways that dazzled the eye.
This was the fourteenth diagram of the Codex, one Rowan had already mastered.
He didn't teach her martial footwork or blade techniques the path of a warrior was not her destiny. Wanda's body only needed to grow strong enough to contain her power. Her true path was mastery of mind and magic.
Perhaps someday, Rowan mused silently, I'll pass her the arts of an Illusionist. With her affinity, she could surpass even me in that realm.
And then another thought struck him, bold and dangerous. What if she trained with the Reality Stone?
Both her chaos magic and the Reality Stone possessed the ability to alter reality itself. If combined, who knew what heights she could reach?
The day wore on. Between exercises, Rowan would distract her with playful orders shifting outfits, yoga postures, little games that turned endless practice into something light-hearted. Traveling through the stars, their journey no longer felt lonely.
At last, Aurora's voice echoed from the ship's console.
"Boss, we're approaching Morag!"
The stars outside slowed as the ship descended into orbit. Through the wide viewing pane, Rowan saw the planet: a bleak sphere, its surface blanketed in gray clouds that shifted sluggishly like smoke. Deathly silence radiated from it, the aura of a world long abandoned.
Rowan tapped his forehead with his palm. "Right… I forgot about this problem."
The Orb the Infinity Stone hidden within could already have been taken. Without knowing whether Star-Lord had been here yet, Rowan had no way of telling. Searching Morag without leads would be like chasing smoke through a storm.
Still, he sighed and muttered, "We're here anyway. Might as well look."
"Aurora, scan the planet. Look for incoming ships, and sweep for signs of ancient ruins."
"Yes, Boss."
The ship hummed with energy as scanners pulsed across Morag's surface. Probes streaked away like comets, descending into the atmosphere. Hours later they returned, their data flowing back into Aurora's systems.
"Boss," she reported quietly, almost apologetically, "no ruins detected. No foreign ships either."
Rowan exhaled slowly. "It's not your fault. The problem is timing. If Quill hasn't been here yet, then the Orb is still hidden. If he has… then it's already gone."
He crossed his arms, thinking hard. Where would I even track that fool Quill down?
Before he could decide, Aurora's voice rang out again, sharp with alarm.
"Boss, spatial fluctuations detected! Unknown vessel approaching!"
Rowan's eyes sharpened as he turned to the viewing pane. Space rippled to the right of their ship, twisting violently. Then, with a thunderous boom, a massive black ship emerged from the distortion.
It was colossal, shaped almost like a whale with a cargo container strapped to its back. Its dull, gray hull made it look brutish, a crude beast among the stars.
Rowan's gaze narrowed. "A ship like that, here, at this time…"
It couldn't be Quill. His ship was far smaller. Could it be Ronan? But even Ronan, for all his brutality, had better taste than this.
On the opposing vessel, crewmen had already noticed Rowan's silver-white ship gleaming in orbit.
"Boss," one of them said nervously, "there's a small craft nearby. Could it be that Quill brat?"
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