Maksym Pachesiuk
patreon
Moon Cultivation [Book 2] - Chapter 130: Eyes, Ears, Beetles
🕑 Added 2025-08-24 23:36:01 +0000 UTCBao and Denis reacted differently from Marlon. Much closer to how I had expected — formally friendly. The news soured their mood somewhat, but it didn’t shake their determination to reach their goal.
If Marlon was right and they didn’t make it, it would hit them hard.
Each of them had twice as many points as I did at the moment, but they hadn’t broken through yet. Depending on their choice of materials, that could drop their balance to zero or even below, whereas I was due for a generous payout at the end of the year for my breakthrough. There was some clever system behind it, with breakthroughs equated to cadet achievements, so the figures changed from year to year. Plus, it kept the suspense alive.
This school loved its intrigue.
Zola’s reaction was unique. She brushed the news aside as though it were nothing of consequence.
“I’m breaking through in two weeks,” she said.
“How?!” I didn’t understand.
She was two whole months behind.
“You thought your schedule was brutal?” she asked. “I have a SCHEDULE!”
Well, at least you don’t have to risk your life!
I thought it, but didn’t say it aloud. At the moment my life was less in danger. At least from poisons.
I wasn’t a hundred per cent safe from them and still wore the bracelet with antidotes… both bracelets, and the amulet.
The shirt I had to keep hidden in the locker — too hard to put on unnoticed, and I didn’t want unnecessary questions. I kept it ‘for special occasions’.
For about a week no one bothered me and I could focus on my own matters. It was a little strange, being without Kate’s constant oversight and Novak’s interests looming over me. After all, the old and wise one had promised to accept me into his cohort of personal disciples, but it seemed he had other business.
Still, he hadn’t forgotten me.
One morning Kate simply messaged me, warning that in the evening there would be tea at the master’s.
Tea with Novak was always more than just tea, and from his choice of leaves you could often, if not understand, at least guess.
I recognised the scent of Pure Thoughts the moment I stepped in. The aroma was rich yet balanced — a touch of honey, a little more citrus, perfect harmony.
There were other scents in the air too — apple and pine…
Damn. We were in for a very serious talk.
Apart from Kate and me, Novak had another guest. He was already seated at the table, sipping his tea. At a glance — a young man, just over twenty. Black jumpsuit, with fours on the collar.
And he wasn’t sitting in my seat!
For some reason all of Novak’s guests always seemed to feel obliged to take the chair to the right of the master’s, so they could keep one eye on the splendid view from the window.
But the view held little interest for him, since he hadn’t taken Kate’s chair to the left either. Instead he sat with his back to the window. Today only Ontel hung beyond it, Earth was nowhere to be seen, and the view wasn’t particularly enchanting. Maybe that was the reason. Or maybe it was the conversation they seemed to have been having for some time already.
“Artem!” Kate greeted him.
A little too cheerfully. And the way she looked at him…
She was interested in him?
Artem stood up.
Tall, lean, with sharp cheekbones that looked as if a sculptor had carved them from wood. His hair was tied in a short knot at the back of his head, dark-blond; his eyes grey — not cold, but attentive, searching.
He waved to Kate in a friendly way and gave me a polite nod as he extended his hand.
“Artem Mykula.”
“Jake Sullivan,” I replied, while checking his data through the interface.
Lifespan: 53/256, despite his boyish looks. And Kate was absolutely smitten with him.
This was the first man she’d thrown such shy glances at in my presence. There was probably a story behind it, but that was Kate’s personal affair, and I respected her enough not to stick my nose into it.
“Please,” Novak gestured to the empty chairs.
We sat, and he poured for us all from two different teapots.
Only I received Pure Thoughts.
Vaclav solemnly raised his cup and turned to me.
“Congratulations on laying a solid Foundation!” he said. “I trust you’ll now be joining the ranks of my personal disciples.”
It was phrased as a statement, so I wasn’t sure I was supposed to say anything.
“Of course!”
I raised my cup, and everyone leaned in so we could clink them together. For an occasion like this, alcohol would have been more fitting, but so be it.
I took a sip.
“I remember my own induction,” Artem said. “You’re much calmer than I was,” he noted.
“You didn’t know what we were really doing here for another ten years after that,” Novak remarked. “Jake’s been in the fight since day one. So let’s not drag this out. Bring out your toys.”
Artem produced a long, narrow box — something like a case for a chain or pendant. The lid clicked open, and instead of jewellery inside was a dozen black beetles the size of a thumbnail. Their shells were matte, and their thick, many-jointed legs looked clumsy, yet they scuttled out of the box with surprising speed.
Their movements were sharp, synchronised, as if guided by some algorithm. In seconds they formed a circle. Then an equilateral triangle. Then a cross.
I wondered what the catch was. What exactly was the point of this demonstration?
Artem, to all appearances, wasn’t doing anything, but Kate was watching him more than the beetles. And it wasn’t a romantic look — it was full concentration.
I took another sip of tea, keeping an eye first on the insects, then on their master.
Suddenly all the beetles opened their shells at once, spread their wings, took flight and scattered around the room. For a brief moment a low droning surrounded us, then silence.
One beetle landed on Vaclav’s shoulder, turned its head towards me, and went still. Novak didn’t so much as twitch a brow. And indeed, the creature perched there so naturally it could have been mistaken for part of the fabric’s decoration.
“Try to find them,” Artem said calmly, shifting his gaze to me.
I pointed straight away at the one on Novak’s shoulder.
“Next,” Artem prompted.
But the rest… it was as though they’d evaporated. I strained my sight, listened for the faintest sound — nothing.
Well, that was surely the intended part of the demonstration, and I wanted it done with so we could get to the point.
“I don’t see the others.”
“And you won’t,” Novak said. “They’re perfect spies. Their shells deflect most sensors. To an ordinary cadet they’re practically invisible.
“Besides, Artem deliberately drew your attention with this one,” Novak pointed at the beetle on his shoulder.
Artem snapped his fingers. One by one the beetles crawled out of shadows, from cracks in the furniture, from under the windowsill. Some, I could have sworn, materialised straight from the air. They took flight again, gathered over the table, then lined up neatly inside the box before Artem shut the lid.
“I want you to learn to control them,” Novak said.
I set down my cup and felt Pure Thoughts accelerating my processor. Beetles. Spies. A network of invisible eyes and ears that could be anywhere. And all this on top of combat training. Novak wasn’t satisfied with my performance in the arena?
“Why me?”
“Because your friends are working on the farm,” Novak replied evenly, as though that explained everything. “And the farm is exactly what interests me. Too much space, too many ‘technical rooms’ you can’t check without raising suspicion. I want you to look into it. Not with your own eyes, of course.” He glanced at the box.
“I’ve already shown my face all over. The demons know I’m trouble for them. Won’t I just make them more suspicious?”
“We’re already at the stage where any unusual behaviour from the observation targets would instantly trigger a capture team.
“But we still don’t know where they’re manufacturing the goods. And we’re only certain about Fara from Technologies.”
“I still can’t believe she’s a demon!” Artem shook his head. “She’s a pragmatic girl, sure, but a demon…?”
“The goods have to be produced somewhere,” Novak went on. “We’ve thoroughly checked the Hall of Medicine, its labs and gardens. That would have been the logical choice. But no. However, we think we’ve found a cadet who handles delivery to the distribution system hidden in the gathering formations.
“So right now we’ve only two suspected demons — Fara and that cadet. Neither of them could have attacked you in Marco’s. So there must be a third.
“The second one is involved in food deliveries from the farms. That’s why we decided to look there.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if Artem did it himself?” I asked. The man was fourth stage and had been working with those beetles for ages, while I still had to learn.
“Unfortunately,” Novak said, “Artem’s experiments with beetles and AI are widely known. If he showed up near a narco-lab, the demons would have a good idea what to expect.”
“If he disappears from his lab for too long, that might raise suspicion as well. I think by now they already know I’m their main enemy, not Johansson. Still, the odds are fifty–fifty.
“I believe you’ll be more useful. And it won’t hurt you either. To control the beetles you’ll need to master two mental techniques.”
Novak turned his gaze to Artem.
He nodded and took a sip before launching into a long explanation.
“The first technique is Thousand Sparks of Awareness. It accelerates the brain’s work, pushing it to the limit. You see more than you can consciously process. With this technique, the speed of information handling and decision-making multiplies many times over.”
He paused to give me time to take it in.
In essence, something similar was what Doc Robinson had made me practise in my very first days here. Only the name hadn’t been quite so grandiose.
“The second technique is Mind Parallelisation. The name speaks for itself. It allows you to split your consciousness into several threads and run them independently. One thread is you and your main body, another controls a drone. It sounds simple, but without preparation it will turn your brain inside out.”
A drone? I stared at the box, at the matte black gleam of the shells, and at last something clicked inside me.
“Wait a second,” I said, pointing at the box. “Drones? Like the ones that collect flowers in the garden? So these aren’t real beetles, they’re imitations?”
Artem gave a proud grin.
“No, Jake. They’re real, if by that you mean of organic origin. I breed them specially for experiments. But these particular beetles have a built-in microcontroller with AI. They can fly, hide, copy movement patterns without your constant command. But if you link them to a cultivator’s mind, they become an extension of you. Your eyes, ears, even fingers. From simple espionage to complex missions.”
And I’d thought the garden drones were something marvellous.
“I hope they handle qi better than their plastic cousins,” I said, recalling how many times mine had broken down.
“You mean qi detonation?” Artem asked. “In fact, they’re ordinary beetles. If one gets caught in that, it’ll be torn apart or squashed. Speaking of which, let me stress straight away: such situations are best avoided. A sudden break in the link guarantees you a horrendous migraine.”
Comments
Jonathan Griffith
Tyftc!
