-oOo-

  Chapter 16

  -oOo-

  Sylvia passed through Orasul Lunii as though she were approaching the gallows.

  Her face burned. Sylvia had thought she was embarrassed on her first day at the Academy. A man wearing girl’s clothes, waiting for everyone to notice.

  This was so much worse.

  Back then, it’d been all in her head. Sylvia’s classmates were blind to the truth. Nobody laughed. Nobody noticed. With time, the fear passed. The taboo had been shattered. What was once forbidden became normal and thought about no more.

  Today, Sylvia suffered the exact opposite.

  Eyes. Eyes. Eyes everywhere. Vampires staring. Beast-kin leering. Werewolves hooting or licking their chops. Sylvia shivered as demonic gazes traced her bare skin. She felt naked. Exposed. Her body an offering for their delight. Sylvia wanted nothing more than to grab the brim of her hat and pull it down so she wouldn’t see that they saw.

  It was like having one of those dreams where you went to school naked.

  Except this was real.

  It was all she could do to not have a nervous breakdown. Sylvia found herself sympathizing with figure skaters and divas. How did they put up with it?

  …

  Who was she kidding? From the way Emily was bouncing alongside, half those girls were probably thrilled to wear those outfits.

  Mouth dry, Sylvia clutched her staff, quartz crystal crackling. She tried to stand tall and project power and authority.

  Alas, she was way too adorable for it to have any effect.

  Fortunately, as she approached the arena, gazes fell away from her and toward something far more interesting.

  Blood sport.

  Orasul Lunii’s coliseum was a rounded stone building. It rose three stories high while covering a breadth of one hundred meters. Lanes led into the building from various directions, with the statues along the path honoring fighters from the last fifty years.

  Demons milled about, bearing weapons on their backs or at their side. Armor of every style was found, from heavy plate to barbarian warrior. Mages entered with enchanted robes while others planned to fight in what looked to be ordinary clothes.

  Sylvia’s group passed them by, stepping into the building. A long line led to the main field with a desk set up for registrants. The tournament was officiated by the Codrin clan. So, it was no surprise that all the judges and officials were vampires.

  “You can do it, Sylvia,” Emily encouraged.

  “Believe in the Emily that believes in you,” Riley joked, patting the silver-haired witch on the shoulder.

  Sylvia groaned. “I just want this to be done and over with.”

  “You do realize that you’ll be wearing that in front of literally everyone, right?”

  “I was trying to forget.” Sylvia ground out.

  “Don’t be nervous, Sylvia. You’re super cute. No matter what happens, everyone will love you,” Emily reassured.

  “If it makes you feel better, I’ve worn worse,” Riley commented. The freckled blonde had a sly grin. “For Halloween. When I was nine.”

  “Riley!” Emily shrieked in anger, cheeks puffed adorably. “Don’t discourage Sylvia! Sylvia, don’t listen to her. Cuteness is justice! It doesn’t matter what you do, as long as you’re cute!”

  …

  She was going to be murdering people for the pleasure of the crowd. What did any of this have to do with justice?

  The angry brunette made a few swatting motions toward Riley. The tomboy laughed and dodged.

  Rolling her eyes, Sylvia flipped Riley the bird before joining the registration line. As she left, Riley turned back and hollered.

  “Knock them out!”

  Registration took fifteen minutes.

  The process was pretty simple. A vampire recorded her name and race, recited the rules, then made her swear she’d abide by them. After handing Sylvia a token, an orange eyed woman brought the witch into a tent where Sylvia was asked to change into a set of red robes to prove she wasn’t carrying more than her soul could bear.

  “This is your proof of registration,” the orange eyed vampiress said, handing over an engraved stone. “You can start a fight by three means. First, you may put your stone in the box. When a ring is free, two stones will be pulled at random. If you’re not present, your stone will be marked and returned to the box. Three times and you’re disqualified.”

  “How long’s the queue?” Sylvia asked.

  The official shrugged. “Three, maybe four hours.”

  That sounded… fun.

  “And the other ways?”

  “A contender may take any empty ring and hold it. After, registered demons can challenge you to a fight. Refusal is an automatic forfeit. Once you take the ring you must fight at least one battle before you can leave it. If no one fights you in ten minutes, the judge will draw a stone and force the issue.”

  Sylvia nodded. This was intended for fighters who were sure of themselves. Particularly, those who were aiming for the captain’s seat in the survival round. Professor Wright had reminded them not to do this, because whoever challenged them would be confident they could take down a mage.

  “And the third way is to challenge someone holding a ring.”

  “Correct,” the vampiress confirmed. “If you have to leave and reenter, you must show your stone to the registration desk. Losing the stone is also a forfeit.”

  With that, it was onward to the main field.

  Giant lamps lit the coliseum, making it as bright as day. The arena floor was dirt. Around the perimeter were five rings marked for individual battles. The judges observed the fights from their high chairs set near the center. Beside each chair was a box. While Sylvia watched, a scaled demon casually tossed his stone in the nearest container.

  Four out of five rings held raging battles.

  In the bleachers, crowds cheered as weapons clashed. Near the fight, benches were set up so the participants could watch. Others stood at the center, some with eyes on the fights or quietly conversing. Sylvia spotted Piper chatting with an oni, no doubt trying to sucker him onto her team.

  As she approached the center, Sylvia’s eyes were drawn to the fight on her left.

  In the ring, a werewolf faced a vampire. The wolf’s fur was matted with blood. In his hand, he carried a long halberd. The demon lunged, lance a blur. Opposite, a black haired vampiress flitted, leaving behind umbral afterimages.

  Sylvia’s gaze sharpened.

  This was her first fight in the tournament, and Sylvia had already witnessed a competitor wielding a manifestation realm art. The concept remained vague, yet a hint lingered in the echo of ki and mana.

  The pace reversed.

  The vampiress flickered, slipping past the werewolf’s halberd. She thrust, rapier haloed by a shadowy serpent. The wolf tried to pivot. Too late. Aura twisted through the air then pierced his core.

  The crowd roared.

  The black haired vampiress whipped her blade, pointing it toward the arena’s center. “Who else dares accompany me?”

  The gathered demons laughed and jostled. Nobody stepped up.

  “Three victories in half an hour, Mihaela,” a genial voice spoke. “Are you truly so set on a captain position?”

  Even Sylvia was forced to admit the speaker was handsome. He had chiseled features and bright red eyes. The vampire’s hair was a mess of blood-red curls. His dress and manner projected an aristocratic style.

  Mihaela, the vampiress, sheathed her sword with a huff. “Iulian, we both know the elder favored you because you’re a man.”

  The vampiress was attractive in an ordinary sort of way. Her hair was like night, straight locks pouring down to her waist. Her facial features were sharp. She was also tall. Taller than Ingrid, if Sylvia ignored the boost of the succubus’ heels.

  “Mihaela, Mihaela,” Iulian lamented, shaking his head. “You still don’t understand why you lost.”

  “I’ve never lost to you,” Mihaela spat. “Come up here and fight me, you gutless coward!”

  Already bored of the dispute, Sylvia scanned for an empty ring.

  Tactically speaking, the smart path was to throw her stone into a box. That way, her fight would be random. Initially, Sylvia had planned exactly that. She was in no hurry and watching a few fights would help her grasp the strengths and weaknesses of other demons.

  Plus, if she found the time, she could slip out and use her last blank skill book.

  Right now? Sylvia wanted to exit this nightmare as soon as possible.

  “Where’s a free ring?” she muttered.

  “On the other side, sugar,” a monkey man laughed, pointing past the crowd. “Hop on in sweetheart, and I’ll be sure to show you a good time.”

  Grinning, the monkey man made thrusting motions with his hips. Beside him, a second demon sporting antlers nudged his friend with his elbow, seeming to enjoy the play. Sylvia’s lips twisted with disgust. Was misogyny really that common, or was her luck shit?

  “On the other side you say?” Sylvia said, keeping her tone bland. “Then come and fight me, if you’ve got the guts.”

  She leapt, petals fluttering beneath pink pumps. A moment later, she landed elegantly amid the empty ring.

  A hush fell upon the horde. Demons gazed, processing what just happened. Not a wave of silence, rather a dampening of the rowdy roar. This dip was followed by a chain of hoots and hollers.

  “Hello gorgeous!” “I bet I could break her with one swing.” “Rip them apart, mad dog!” “Look, another arrogant beauty.” “I can take her!” “Who wants to go first?”

  Sylvia let the torrent roll over her. Her eyes found the monkey man through the gaps in the crowd. The beast-kin’s smile faltered, turning into a scowl. Then, he vanished behind the throng.

  That’s right, tuck your tail and run, worm, Sylvia sneered internally.

  “Miss, are you issuing an open challenge?”

  It was the judge in the high chair who asked the question. He had steely, gray hair and eyes like dried blood.

  “Yes,” Sylvia answered, tossing him her stone.

  The judge checked her token. Satisfied, his voice rose. “Ring three has been claimed by Sylvia Swallows. Who dares face this contender?”

  “I do!” a voice roared.

  A hogmin shoved his way through the crowd. The demon was big and bulky. His shoulders were nearly two meters wide. By comparison, his height of six-foot-three was below average for warrior class demons. When compared to Sylvia’s five nothing, however, he might as well have been a giant.

  Chung. Chung.

  Heavy armor rattled as the hogmin stepped into the ring. His head was bare, showing his tusks and pig-like snout. The rest of him was layered in metal plate. A tall shield was slung over the demon’s back, paired with a double-headed battleaxe.

  The judge held out a hand. With thick fingers, the hogmin handed over his token.

  “Do you know the rules?” he asked, voice directed toward both contestants.

  ““Yes””

  Sylvia and the hogmin answered at the same time.

  “Then take your positions,” the judge commanded. “We will start on my mark.”

  The ring was defined by a white circle which swept a space twenty meters in diameter. Through the ring’s center a line was drawn. That line was split by four marks. Fighters were allowed to place themselves between any two of those marks on their side of the field. Through this means, the contestants could start as close as five meters or as far as fifteen.

  As Sylvia was a witch, she took the space furthest back. The hogmin, naturally, took the spot most forward.

  “I am called Leonid, witch.” The hogmin declared, thumping his axe against his shield. “Remember the name of your vanquisher.”

  “Who is to say who will be vanquishing whom,” Sylvia retorted in annoyance.

  The silver-haired witch leaned on her staff. The quartz crystal was crackling with lightning ether. A thin, invisible barrier was cast from her armor, shielding her from harm.

  “The arrogance of high demons,” Leonid spat.

  The hogmin shifted his posture. His body lowered, shield to the fore. The pig demon’s brown eyes peered over the rim. Sylvia could almost feel his ki shifting, gathering in his lower body, ready to explode.

  Hers spiraled internally, forming stems and petals.

  External manipulation was forbidden before the match began. If not, Sylvia would’ve started the fight by erecting an array of frost shields. She might’ve even boldly built fortifications. Sylvia felt this rule was unfair to mages, but there was no helping it. Letting her do as she pleased would’ve been even more ridiculous.

  “Ready.” The judge called, raising his hand. Then his arm fell. “Fight!”

  It started in an instant.

  Ki exploded under Leonid’s feet. He shot forward, energy uncoiling behind him. Spring step. An externalization realm technique as common as it was effective. Sylvia swished to the side. The waltz of flowers was of a higher level but it was no match for the hogmin’s acceleration.

  What it did have was mobility.

  Chunk!

  The pig demon’s axe blurred down, crashing into the dirt. Earth shattered on impact, unleashing a cloud of dust. Leonid wrenched his weapon from the ground, whirling in Sylvia’s direction. With a hop and a skip, Sylvia glided back.

  With each leap, she gained altitude.

  “■■.”

  Then, with one great step, she soared.

  Without her Blood Bone Heels, Sylvia could manage a triple jump at best. Her strength attribute was too weak, so her ki couldn’t support her own weight. With them, Sylvia could stride through the sky, flying as freely as a bird. Briefly. The rate of exhaustion was comparable to an athlete competing in the two-hundred meter dash.

  Add in feather-light and Sylvia could remain in the air for as long as her mana could last.

  “That’s cheating!” Leonid roared, raising his axe angrily.

  While the pigman turned to the judge, Sylvia chanted.

  “■■ ■■”

  Water ether flowed from her elemental palace, winding with wind to form ice. A frozen plane formed in the air, guarding her from danger.

  Opening an elemental palace wasn’t difficult. It only required ingesting an elemental source capable of storing 50 ether along with a payment of one-thousand experience points. Water had been Sylvia’s element of choice, much to Lady Vallenfelt’s delight. Sylvia had felt the element the most practical of the set. Wind, fire, and lightning were covered by her staff. Of the primary elements, only earth and water were left.

  And water was, without a doubt, the best when it came to defense. Not so much because water was stronger than earth but because water was transparent.

  “The flight ceiling is twenty meters,” the judge rejected. “As long as she remains within the ring, all movements are legal.”

  Laughter rose from the crowd.

  “Pig man picked wrong!” “Throw your axe, man!” “Beat him up, Sylvia!” “Roast the pig!” “Why can’t I see up her skirt?”

  Sylvia’s eye twitched.

  Don’t listen to the crowd. Don’t listen to the crowd.

  Reminding herself, Sylvia did her best to focus on the fight.

  Below, the hogmin glowered. The pig demon paced back and forth, glaring at her while grinding his teeth. Sylvia judged from his lack of action that Leonid had no good way to attack an aerial foe.

  Which meant it was a great time to make use of a System feature.

  Observe Opponent

  Ding!

  Ding!

  Reward: +10 pts – Anatomical structure: Typhon Aplistia Choiros

  Ten merit points. Sweet. Sylvia felt a wave of excitement. Unable to resist, she quickly used Observe Item targeting Leonid’s armor, shield, and axe. This time, she ignored the associated windows. The real reward was the twenty-one merit points flowing into her pocket.

  Beautiful. Life was beautiful.

  “You can’t stay up there forever!” Leonid shouted.

  “You’re right. I can only hang around for fifteen minutes,” Sylvia stated, dully. She waved her staff. “■■■.”

  Sharp stone ripped through the earth, a flower of razor shards reaching out. The hogmin threw himself to the side in a brief roll before scrambling to his feet.

  Worth a try. Since that didn’t work, Sylvia would go for something a little more sophisticated.

  “■ ■■■.”

  Her next spell was the cremation hex. An invisible chain of runes swam through the air like a serpent. The unseen magic sank into Leonid’s flesh, wriggling as it dug deep. The curse melted into his blood, hidden and waiting.

  “■■.” With a flick, Sylvia renewed her feather-light.

  “Then I’ll wait down here for you!” Leonid yelled.

  Moron.

  “■ ■■■.” She added a second cremation hex to the first.

  The hogmin growled angrily. It was clear he didn’t know what to do.

  Magic and ki had very different characteristics. Mana was ephemeral. Without runes, it was nearly worthless. With runes, it could be forged into many shapes. A skilled mage was adaptable and deadly at every range.

  Ki was heavier. Being born from the body, it easily augmented the flesh. Compared to mana, it was difficult to shape. Basic arts relied on a vessel. Even with externalization, it was not easily separated from its source. And when it was, the action came with great cost.

  A mage stretched their mana by blending spells with ether. A warrior preserved their ki through cycling. As Sylvia stood upon air, her ki was consumed by the waltz of flowers. But, of the energy she spent, ninety-five percent of it was recovered.

  Or, to apply that math in reverse, her consumption rate would be twenty times greater if she were to scatter her ki into the air.

  Ranged martial arts weren’t just difficult, they were absurdly expensive.

  Which left Leonid up shit creek without a paddle.

  “■■.” With two syllables, Sylvia summoned a massive ball of fire.

  The roaring flame roiled, sucking the ether from her staff. When the last drop was drained, Sylvia swung her weapon unleashing the blazing orb.

  Flame shot was slow, obvious, and an ether hog. Sylvia never had a high opinion of it. As for why, Leonid’s response illustrated it perfectly.

  When the fire fell, the hogmin raised his shield. The demon crouched, ki flowing into his equipment. A haze of light spread from the shield, forming a wall of aura twice the size of the shield itself.

  Whomph!

  Magic hit with a billowing blaze. A wave of heat and wind rose, stirring Sylvia’s hair and skirt. Below, an inferno swirled, parting around the hogmin, leaving him singed but mostly unharmed.

  Sylvia wore an evil smile.

  Fire twisted. Right as the spell was about to dissipate, the coiling flame was sucked into Leonid’s body in the shape of twin ropes.

  The hogmin screamed.

  A pillar of fire wrapped the demon for a full second, before a burst of ki scattered the spell.

  Barbecued pig emerged from the blaze, a shadow spinning through dying embers. Whomp. Whomp. Leonid’s massive tower shield whirled through the air. Sylvia dodged to the side, her motions made floaty by feather-light. On the tail of the first attack came a second. A body loomed over the silver-haired witch, giving her a bare instant to react.

  Bang!

  Leonid’s battleaxe smashed into Sylvia’s frost shield with the full weight of the pigman behind it. The shock sent her crashing down. Sylvia twisted, before she hit ground she transformed her fall into a curved skate. The witch slid back, then up, like a roller coaster on banked tracks.

  Thump.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  The hogmin touched ground. The demon lunged forward, hoping to catch Sylvia before she could rise. The witch danced backward, chanting a spell. Ether flowed from her water palace.

  “■■ ■ ■■.”

  A ball of clear liquid condensed at the tip of her staff. It shot forward like a bullet. The projectile curved toward the hogmin. Water knife, an attack spell reminiscent of wind blade but with less ability to turn and greater penetration.

  Deprived of his shield, Leonid blocked with his axe. The water knife smashed into the broad face of his weapon. The impact made him flinch, slowing his chase. Sylvia rose higher, her chant a rapid percussion.

  “■■, ■■.”

  Two additional knives chained with the first. The second went low, aiming for the hogmin’s knees. The demon threw himself into a roll. The third streaked toward his chest. Leonid shifted the shaft of his weapon at the last second, saving him from a pierced core.

  But not from the broken drops perforating his armor.

  The System showed the hogmin on the edge of death. Mercilessly, Sylvia continued her chant.

  “■■ –”

  Leonid rolled again, placing himself outside the arena’s lines.

  Sylvia cut her spell, bullet veering into the dirt. The witch drifted down, feet touching lightly on the earth.

  “Victory, Sylvia Swallows,” the judge called.

  Leonid struggled to his knees. “Fuck!” he roared, pounding the earth with a fist.

  Sylvia stayed silent.

  She didn’t berate his bad sportsmanship. How could she? There was a slave collar around the hogmin’s neck. There was one around the necks of half the fighters gathered here today. The Young Demons Tournament was open to all demons, slave and free alike. For Leonid, this was a chance to show his worth.

  Not for freedom. Freedom wasn’t so easily obtained.

  Rather, for a better life. Not all slaves were equal. Even for those who were owned, there were masters who were better and worse. Jobs and positions that earned greater wealth would, in turn, provide a slave with greater comfort and more resources. In the netherworld, the most prestigious jobs a young slave could hope for were guard, soldier, or a member of a hunting team.

  “Good match,” she said eventually.

  Did she regret winning? No. No one was entitled to victory. But she felt a pang in her heart.

  Leonid sneered. “Don’t patronize me, high-born.”

  The hogmin stood. Worn and weak, he walked off. Leonid’s token shattered in the judge’s hand. The gray haired vampire looked toward Sylvia.

  “Will you accept another challenge?”

  “Fight!” “Sylvia, I love you!” “Fight!” “Fight!” “Sylvia’s mine, you can’t have her!” “Fight!” “Fight!” “Fight!”

  The crowd chanted, driving her toward battle. The raucous energy was like a drug. The silver-haired witch felt her heart soaring. A powerful, heady desire urged her to go one more round. One more battle. One more chance to show her strength.

  But her pastel pink eyes were undeterred.

  “No,” she answered, with a shake of her head.

  Sylvia stepped out of the ring and received her stone token. The polished rock had a new line, symbolizing her victory.

  “Boo!” the horde roared.

  Assholes.

  While pushing through the crowd, Sylvia stirred fire ether in warning. Whether from fear or respect, demons shifted to let her pass. The press faded behind her as she neared the exit. Sylvia gazed up, sweeping the stands for her friends.

  “Sylvia Swallows was it?” A genial voice interrupted. “I’m Iulian Codrin, the captain appointed by the Demon King, Vilhelm Codrin. It is my great pleasure to meet such a lovely witch.”

  Sylvia turned. Iulian offered his hand. The witch extended hers out of habit. Instead of a shake, the redheaded vampire gave an elegant bow then kissed it.

  …

  Her face started to burn. Sylvia snatched the limb back, feeling incredibly awkward.

  “Don’t work with that weakling,” a female voice interrupted. “Work with me instead.”

  Right on Iulian’s heel appeared Mihaela. The black haired beauty leaned in, glaring down at Sylvia like a bandit.

  “Don’t you have two more fights to complete?” Iulian retorted. He made a shooing motion, as though dealing with a pest. “Earn your captain seat before poaching recruits.”

  “It’s not my fault the demons here are cowards,” Mihaela sneered. “I’m stronger. She belongs to me.”

  Wow. And here she was, partial to an attractive woman over a suave gentleman. Way to set a great first impression.

  “The lady may consort with whomever she wishes,” Iulian countered with a cultured tone. “And must you force me to this discourtesy?”

  Iulian, on the other hand, was hitting it out of the park, creepy kissing and constant reminders of her femininity aside.

  She sighed. Why would anyone think of her as anything but a ladylike girl when she was wearing this dress?

  On the bright side, Professor Wright was correct. Sylvia wouldn’t have to look for a captain. Instead, they’d come looking for her.

  “If you two want to recruit me, then you can start by giving me a reason I should join your team,” Sylvia said forthright.

  So stated, the witch brushed past the pair. She continued on her path, exiting the arena to stop in the lobby. Both vampires followed, unbothered by the prospect of having to show their stones at the registration desk.

  “That’s easy,” Mihaela said, thumbing toward her person. “I’m the strongest.”

  The System rated the black haired vampiress at C-II/Mid. Iulian wore the same tag. Sylvia was well aware that this measure was imprecise. And even if she knew their exact level, she still wouldn’t know the subtle difference in their skill.

  Which, with their cultivation near identical, was far more important.

  “So it has come to this,” Iulian sighed. “If you must know, I won the captain seat because I was fittest to lead. I am an expert in tactics, strategy, and group management. I have led hunter teams for the last three years and am experienced in the field. Mihaela, if you have not yet noticed, is a thick-headed brigand.”

  Sylvia nodded. A good sell. There were plenty of powerful demons in the tournament, but how many of them knew how to lead? This was the minors. No one here had been born more than ten years ago. Experience was often lacking.

  “You’ve never once won a fight against me!” Mihaela declared angrily, glaring at her companion. “I challenge you for her.”

  Iulian’s exasperated look said: see what I mean.

  “Since you say you are strong, let me test how strong you are,” Sylvia requested.

  The black haired vampiress looked in Sylvia’s direction then gave a firm nod.

  “I’ll warn you, I’m not good at holding back.”

  Thick-headed indeed.

  Thud. Sylvia tapped the butt of her staff against the ground while unleashing Observe Opponent. She didn’t actually need to, but she felt the act would avoid undesirable questions.

  Ding!

  Mihaela was as strong as she claimed. Vampires were pure carnivores. Compared to witches, who relied on mixed cultivation, their growth was faster. Provided they could lay their hands on sufficient resources, of course.

  Still, to reach level 258 in less than ten years was patently ridiculous.

  “Causality magic?” Iulian questioned.

  The black haired vampiress glanced between the two of them in confusion.

  “It’s convenient,” Sylvia explained. She lifted her staff, tilting it toward the redheaded vampire. “May I?”

  “To catch the eye of a beauty is my honor,” Iulian agreed with a bow.

  Sleaze.

  Thud. Faking a second tool activation, Sylvia used Observe Opponent.

  Ding!

  And the courtly slime ball was level 221. Freak. Sylvia’s level was only 173.

  …

  Which, uh, made her a super freak. Those two had to be around ten years old by demon reckoning. Sylvia had been in Hell for less than one.

  “Both of you are quite strong,” Sylvia noted.

  “No way. Iulian is a wimp,” Mihaela denied. Then she glowered. “And a coward.”

  “On one thing, Mihaela speaks true. Never once have I defeated her,” Iulian made clear. “Her gift with the blade surpasses mine. In this, she is a true genius who has crossed into the manifestation realm.”

  “I’m in the manifestation realm,” Sylvia deadpanned.

  …

  The two of them stared at her.

  “Yes. And in this I must say I am not your peer,” Iulian sighed, handling the interruption elegantly. “I remain but a warrior of externalization.”

  Smooth. Very smooth.

  Mihaela looked smug. “See. You belong with me, not this weakling.”

  “However,” Iulian continued. “There are many forms of talent.”

  With a flourish, Iulian formed a knife of darkness. The blade cut deep into his wrist. Rivulets of blood dibbled to the ground. A pool formed, melting into shadow. Sylvia watched with interest, her eyes revealing a transformation of ki, mana, ether, and essence.

  Shadow vampires were the most common vampires of the sanguis genera. Their foremost trait was blood harvest, which let them drink blood and transform it into strength. Their second innate trait was shadow magic. This was a form of natural spell casting that was more art than science.

  Shadow was not an element. It was an aspect born from an entanglement of void and water. What Iulian worked, however, was a magic of a higher level. Blood was the currency of life. From shadow came form. The two intertwined, creating a black bat. The phantasm beat its wings, circling over Iulian’s head.

  “I thought only regal vampires could birth familiars from blood,” Sylvia mused.

  “You are a lady and a scholar,” Iulian praised. “It is indeed a rare skill among us vampires of the night. Mine is a limited gift which will only see its true emergence after Awakening. This servitor will live for but an hour.”

  “What’s the point,” Mihaela scoffed. “It’s not like they can do anything.”

  Sylvia’s gaze was flat. Iulian was right. The black haired beauty was an idiot.

  “You can see through their eyes.”

  “You are as wise as you are beautiful, Lady Swallows,” Iulian confirmed, bright red eyes shining with delight. “I can also hear through their ears.”

  Mihaela’s nose wrinkled. “Spare me your disgusting flirting. The witch is mine. I’ve already claimed her.”

  “I choose who I work with. Not you,” Sylvia asserted. Her staff crackled in warning.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve been enchanted by this pansy,” Mihaela spat.

  Sylvia’s eyes narrowed. Mihaela was formally off the list. She wasn’t just a fool, her personality was rotten.

  “If I might add,” Iulian interrupted. “I have already recruited Elroy of Est Sombre. A werewolf whose combat ability surpasses mine.”

  The redheaded vampire sure knew how to make his offer tempting. If Iulian had recruited another Class II mid-ranked demon, his team could contend for first place. In the minors, at least.

  “You’d ally with a mangy mutt!” Mihaela said, scandalized.

  Iulian’s eyes turned dark. His tone was icy. “In the Timeless Beryl Wilderness, the vampires have no greater ally. Have you forgotten this, Mihaela?”

  “Play with your witch as you like,” the black haired vampiress said angrily, striding back to claim a ring.

  The silver-haired witch scowled. “I don’t like her.”

  “But she is strong,” Iulian observed. “Displeasing as she may be, it would be best to avoid her in the survival round. Lady Swallows, might I know your answer?”

  The constant flattery was like moldy cake. Just enough sweetness to entice the tongue, while the stomach made known its wish to vomit.

  “I want to meet this werewolf first,” Sylvia answered. “And drop the lady. I’m not nobility.”

  “Then allow me to guide you, Miss Swallows,” Iulian accepted.

  Elroy of Est Somber wasn’t far. The werewolf had taken a post in the stands, his gaze fixed on ring one. He was big. Taller than Leonid by half a hand span. Like Dumas, who still haunted Sylvia’s nightmares, his body was covered in fur. White, turning dark in the under layer.

  And much of that fur was hidden beneath thick, gray metal. Cuirass, plates, and pauldrons covered the wolf. Only his hands and face were revealed. Even then, Elroy wore a helmet that shielded the top of his head and snout.

  Heavy armor was something of an oddity. Martial armor provided defense through the power of concepts rather than the weight of material. This defense was carried by the warrior’s ki, spreading to every centimeter of skin. For this reason, netherworld armor was more a matter of fashion than function.

  Still, having layers of phantasmal substance had its use.

  It was just that, unlike in the physical universe, it wasn’t clear whether this small advantage was worth the price paid in outward weight.

  Elroy’s golden eyes fell on Sylvia. Her expression twisted. She felt like a kid beside a giant. If the whole netherworld was like this, she feared she might one day be seduced into wearing Ingrid-style high heels.

  Poor Riley.

  May her suffering lighten Sylvia’s heart.

  “You found a witch,” Elroy noted, his voice a deep rumble.

  “I haven’t decided yet,” Sylvia asserted. This time she didn’t stand for ceremony. Thud.

  Observe Opponent.

  Ding!

  Sylvia’s eye twitched.

  The outward attributes of a pure warrior class demon dwarfed those of mixed races like vampires. Sylvia knew well that skill and technique mattered more than raw power. Still, it was humbling to see those heaps of hit points.

  Also, how did Iulian recruit this monster?

  “Why aren’t you fighting for a captain’s seat?” Sylvia asked.

  “Pairing with a strong captain is a surer route to victory than creating a team of my own,” Elroy answered simply. He offered a hand.

  Sylvia cautiously extended her own. The werewolf hand gripped her forearm for a firm shake. Wow. No flirting. No flattery. She liked him already.

  “I am Elroy of Est Sombre.”

  “Sylvia Swallows,” Sylvia answered.

  “Miss Swallows wishes to judge you before accepting my invitation,” Iulian explained.

  “I have a few questions of my own,” Elroy agreed. “But first, allow me to introduce myself. I am a werewolf, as should be obvious. In terms of combat, I have touched upon the manifestation realm and am capable of using the art mountain crusher. I’m also confident in using my ki to guard, armor, and deflect. As for movement arts, I admit to only having passing familiarity.”

  Sylvia raised an eyebrow. This was the second manifestation realm fighter she’d met in the tournament. Were they so common?

  “If you wish, I can demonstrate my ability,” Elroy continued.

  Sylvia shook her head. “No need.”

  “As for the lady, I have personally witnessed her prowess in the ring,” Iulian vouched. “She toyed with a hogmin in the lower end of the first consolidation. Quite easily, I might add.”

  “I am less interested in her combat ability than her craft,” Elroy dismissed. His golden eyes were sharp. “Can you create healing potions?”

  “I wouldn’t call myself an expert, but I know the spells,” Sylvia answered truthfully.

  Professor Wright had covered them during the survival unit. With the help of her Networked Grimoire, Sylvia was confident she could handle simple alchemy.

  Magic in combat had to be swift. Spells cast outside of battle were far more forgiving.

  “Divination and counter divination?”

  “I can do both.” Sylvia raised a palm, cutting off the follow-up. “I know a few hundred spells and can cover most scenarios. However, of the five witches from the Academy, I’m the youngest. My real world experience is pretty limited. Compared to the others, all I can say is that my casting speed is the fastest.”

  She was also rather confident that she was the best fighter of the five. And if she wasn't right now, she’d definitely be the strongest after consuming her last skill book.

  Elroy frowned. The werewolf stroked his chin. “Are you confident in tracking and counter tracking?”

  “Against anyone but Tiffany, yes,” Sylvia answered.

  Tiffany, that insufferable gossip, had an obsession with causality magic.

  “Then I am fine with it,” Elroy agreed. “Grasping a witch is an uncertain thing from the start.”

  Now that much was true. There were only five participating, one of whom was a captain herself.

  “Then consider me recruited,” Sylvia accepted.

  “If I may,” Iulian interrupted. “The Academy, I believe, recruits on a biannual basis. Since you are the youngest, does that mean you are a fifth year?”

  Sylvia paused. Then, sheepishly, she raised one finger. “First.”

  …

  The courtly vampire gazed at her in disbelief. “Excuse me? I believe I misheard.”

  The werewolf let out a low, rumbling laugh.

  “Iulian, you have a rare gift when it comes to collecting allies.” Elroy thumped his chest. “Forgive me, I did not expect to be in the presence of a genius. Have faith in my hammer. I will see that no one dares touch you.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m more than capable of carrying my weight,” Sylvia affirmed.

  Err… she should’ve said ‘your weight’. Hers was a little lacking.

  -oOo-

  Term: High Demon, High-Born, Blue Blood

  Informal references used by demons of the lower class to refer to those who were born ‘superior’.

  There are three unifying traits to high-born demons. First, they enter Hell outside the slave system. Often with training, support, and cultivation resources provided to them. Second, they have an attractive human-like appearance. Third, their bloodline has good potential.

  While this category is informal, there is no question that Hell systematically favors high demons. Sometimes for shallow, animal prejudice – good looks are always welcome. Other times, for consequence of actual advantage – high potential. But in the case of former slaves, the racism is blatant. Many nobles outright refuse to appoint anyone who has ever been a slave to important positions, believing such demons have a chip on their shoulder.

  Which, of course, is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

  Bloodline: Hogmin

  Type: Physical

  Potential: Low

  Commonality: Common

  Formal Name: Typhon Aplistia Choiros

  Hogmin are a common slave race of the typhon lineage. They have an innate ability to sense, control, and extract essences. This power is particularly strong with materials of an earth or metal origin. Not unsurprisingly, hogmin are natravores who cultivate by consuming earth and metal resources.

  Though not a synthesized race, hogmin have been bred to reduce their potential, an action accomplished by intentionally birthing demons from the weakest codes of their species instead of the strongest. As a result, it is difficult for hogmin to achieve Awakening. Further, unlike beast-kin, their bloodline lacks strong adaptability. Thus, there is no good solution to this problem. The best shot for most hogmin is to find the bloodline code of the original hogmin species or risk chimeric adoption of other codes from the aplistia genera.

  In society, hogmin are often scorned. They are seen as inferior, not just because of their potential, but because of their inhuman appearance. Hogmin rarely escape the lower classes. Even after their enslavement period ends, they are often forced to reenter the same industry, scraping by at the edge of existence. The successful members often become slave owners, ruling over those of their own bloodline.

  Hogmin make up about 5% of Hell’s population base. Their bloodline is far rarer in both Heaven and the Fey Federation.