-oOo-

  Chapter 19

  -oOo-

  Sylvia gazed at her status window. Eight levels in one fight. She licked her lips, tasting the delicious wave of experience points. Ten thousand! Never before had she gathered this much. In fact, she might’ve earned more if she hadn’t hit her limit. Sylvia was so full of blood essence she could practically feel it sloshing.

  Yum.

  If only every day played out like this. Then, she’d be in the second consolidation in less than two months.

  “If I want to enjoy it, I have to stay alive for the next few days, no matter what,” Sylvia reminded herself.

  Though her System recorded the points, they weren’t really hers as of yet. Not until her body finished transforming the blood essence into soul essence, which would take half a week.

  …

  ...

  Her eye twitched.

  She didn’t set a death flag for herself, right?

  Ha ha ha. No way that would happen.

  Leaping off a roof, Sylvia headed for the noble district.

  Soldiers moved through the streets of Orasul Lunii. To her rear were the city walls, the districts beside them recently ravaged by waves of shamblers. Buildings burned with black flame and blue light. Two of the three towers had fallen. Only the West Tower stood, crooked and beaten. An occasional flash flared from its peak, flame mortars and lightning cannons firing into the sieging mass. Frost specters were a white swirl above the walls, tackling anyone who dared to climb them.

  To Sylvia’s fore was Castel Lunii, framed by the blood-red moon. A lonely specter floated overhead, most long since directed toward the walls. Clear proof the foe lacked a powerful air force.

  To remain inconspicuous, Sylvia had swapped her armor for her school robes. That was one upside to this clusterfuck. Sylvia hadn’t been forced to show off her ‘magical girl outfit’ to the entire plane.

  Sometimes, when life hands you lemons, Hell transforms you into a cute girl and makes you sell lemonade.

  With that disdainful thought, Sylvia considered her leveling plan.

  Of the eight levels she’d earned, Sylvia had tossed five into strength. With this investment, she hoped to free herself from the constraints of feather-light. Ki derived from the body. Its potency was a product of strength. This decided Sylvia's lift when using the waltz of flowers. Right now, with her Blood Bone Heels, Sylvia could fly, but she had to push herself hard to do it.

  So, while vitality better improved stamina, strength was needed to drive the physical burden from a sprint to a jog.

  Of the remaining levels, she used two to round her wit to a beautiful fifty. The last went to spirit. Hmm. Maybe it was time to stop leading with wit?

  Wit improved the speed of mana and thought. It also enhanced memory and retention. As a student of the Academy harvesting blank skill books, it’d been her most potent investment. However, Sylvia had already reached the point of diminishing returns. In terms of real world casting speed, spirit played a larger role than wit. It also buffed her mana pool, which Sylvia had recently found lacking.

  As for the magic attribute? Sylvia had no immediate need. She’d still boost it to fifty because she didn’t want the stat to lag too far behind the others. It wouldn’t add much though. Higher mysticism meant faster ether recovery, which was good. She could also put a little more umph into her spells, but she really needed to crawl up the quality chain before chasing raw power.

  Sigh. So many things to do. So many levels to gain.

  A patrol passed by as Sylvia approached the noble district. There was a tense energy in the air. On her left, the witch spotted a house shrouded in a bell of flowing water. On her right, stone soldiers were guarding a manor’s grounds. Even the streets were bustling, servants running to and fro, carrying goods and carts.

  As usual, with the spark of war, the devils and nobles first ensured their property was protected.

  Finally, the wrought iron gates which marked Baroness Vallenfelt’s territory came into view.

  A weight fell from Sylvia’s shoulders.

  “Hey, you!” a voice shouted. “What are you doing out there?”

  From the Vallenfelt grounds emerged a witch. Soft pink hair, school robes and a sapphire dress. The senior, only a few inches taller than Sylvia, glared at the younger witch, hand on her hip.

  “Making my way back,” Sylvia deadpanned.

  With the pinkette's short, cutesy twin tails, it was hard to take her seriously. Sylvia's first instinct was to think ‘puppy’. This was the natural contempt of a thirty-year-old man looking down on a young woman who appeared between seventeen and twenty. A year in the Academy wasn't enough to change that. Intellectually, Sylvia knew this was wrong, but the heart moves the mind, not the other way around.

  “The professors have ordered everyone to stay behind the walls, no matter what,” the senior said with a huff, grabbing the silver-haired girl’s sleeve.

  Sylvia let the girl drag her through the gate. A snide portion of her brain desperately wanted to point out that the pink-haired witch had just violated her self said rule.

  She couldn’t help but smile.

  It felt homey. Normal. Sylvia was where she belonged. With her peers. When she was teamed with Iulian, it was always Lady Swallows this and Lady Swallows that. Formality and responsibility everywhere.

  How ironic. She looked at the senior witch and saw a junior, but deep down, Sylvia kind of wanted to be a kid herself.

  Once through the gates, Sylvia spotted a dog-eared warrior. The man was relaxing in a wooden guard house, his eyes following the pair with sharp interest. The beast-kin wore a dashing uniform with Vallenfelt’s crest: a quill and wand crossed in front of a giant star.

  Sylvia looked past her senior toward the guard.

  “I need to speak with Lady Vallenfelt.”

  The guard shrugged. “I don’t deal with academy matters.”

  Of course not. If Sylvia were him, she wouldn’t either.

  “What were you doing out there?” the pinkette demanded.

  “Trying to not be dead,” Sylvia answered, blithely.

  “I’m taking you to Professor Wright,” the senior student insisted. “Right now.”

  “That works too,” Sylvia accepted.

  The pink-haired senior’s expression darkened. Apparently, she didn’t like Sylvia’s answer. Well, that was a her problem.

  The two approached the mansion. Armed maids in Vallenfelt’s livery watched the door. Junior students, wearing navy blue robes, marched in and out. On the awning above, a gargoyle shuffled, dark red eyes leering down at her. The System tagged the phantasm as C-III/Low.

  Having noticed them for the first time, Sylvia scanned the roof finding five more.

  Then, the senior witch huffed and pulled her inside.

  They found Abigail Wright a minute later.

  The professor was busy wrangling students. A pair of academy juniors – third years, Sylvia guessed – were moving a king-sized bed out of the room. Just down the hall, others waited with a pair of bunks.

  Ah. It clicked. They were moving witches from the guest house to the mansion.

  So long, individual room. I hardly knew ya.

  “Professor Wright, I found – ”

  The teacher turned only to startle when she saw Sylvia.

  “Oh good. You’re alive,” Professor Wright breathed out. She patted her chest. “This is great news. I’ll go and tell Lady Vallenfelt immediately.”

  Sylvia’s gaze flicked to the witches floating a bed awkwardly through the door. Feather-light was so handy.

  Also, school robes. Everyone was wearing school robes. The baroness must’ve laid down the law, because Sylvia’s fellow witches had shed those skins the second the festival started.

  “I can tell her myself,” she offered.

  “Not possible,” Professor Wright refuted. “The dean took most of the senior students to the South Tower. She doesn’t want anyone running about.”

  Sylvia glanced around. This explained the dearth of seniors and abundance of juniors. Ruby dresses, she noted, were also scarce. Though, there had always been a gap between students external and internal. Not just in terms of bloodline, but of life experience.

  “Professor Wright,” the senior student said, again. “I found her on the street. Outside the walls.”

  “Yes. Of course, you did,” Abigail dismissed. “Now Sylvia, I’m afraid we’re moving all the students into the mansion. So, you’ll have to share – ”

  “Outside the walls,” the pinkette repeated, looking both annoyed and serious.

  Sylvia snorted a laugh.

  The senior’s expression turned to a scowl.

  Professor Wright wore a loose grin. The teacher reached over and patted the older student on the shoulder.

  “Sorry, Willow. It slipped my mind. Sylvia was part of the tournament,” Abigail explained with an amused smile. “She could’ve hardly come from anywhere but outside the walls. And thank you for bringing her to me.”

  Willow looked at Sylvia, confused. Then her eyes brightened. Having realized the situation, the older witch turned back to the brown haired professor.

  “Of course, Professor Wright,” she said happily. “I’ll go back to the gate.”

  “Did anyone else make it back?” Sylvia questioned, as the other witch vanished.

  The professor shook her head. “Josephine and Piper are in the process of resurrection. Brianna and Tiffany remain unaccounted for. The legions outside managed to bring a soul beacon close to the city. The dean fears they might’ve been swept up by it.”

  Sylvia grimaced.

  Soul beacons were, essentially, giant soul lamps. Armies used them to deny their enemy a chance to resurrect and also to ensure their own troops enjoyed the privilege. If there was good news, it was that soul beacons were huge. They weren’t easily moved. If Orasul Lunii could destroy it, then all the souls captured would be free to seek rebirth.

  Assuming the imprisoned souls weren’t first ported elsewhere by alternative means.

  Immortality wasn’t nearly so grand when the enemy made preparations against it.

  “Cheer up,” Professor Wright said, slapping her shoulder. “The baron has better things to do with his karma than to cast schoolgirls into the void. Even if the worst happened, Lady Vallenfelt will ransom them back from Baron Ishii.”

  “True.”

  Demons traded souls in warfare, just as mortals traded prisoners. Brianna and Tiffany weren’t important to the war effort. Even if Lady Vallenfelt lacked soldiers to exchange with Baron Ishii, it was unlikely the oni would disregard the allure of cold hard cash.

  “I have to report to the dean,” Abigail said. “Your friends are set up in your former room, along with two others. I’m sure they’ll be happy to see you.”

  Sylvia nodded, saying nothing. Professor Wright quirked a smile, then hurried off.

  It was time.

  Her pastel pink eyes gazed down the hall, thoughts turning inward. Sylvia had put it off for too long. She knew it. She knew what she needed to do. She knew her responsibility.

  Still, Sylvia hesitated.

  Because she didn’t want to know.

  Because she didn’t want to change.

  Somewhere in the past year, her friends had become part of her. A precious human connection Eric had lacked. His life had been empty. A lonely job. A lonely apartment. A stream of acquaintances, superficial and dull. Relationships between coworkers weren’t the same as those between friends. Even before this, the story had repeated. In his college years, the bonds Eric forged were tenuous at best.

  Emily and Riley had been with her for a full year. Every morning, they were there, nattering. Every class, they sat beside her. Every night, Sylvia would find them to her left and right.

  That kind of connection had power. Invisible and intangible, for sure, but real nonetheless.

  Today, Sylvia was going to test this bond.

  She feared it might break.

  Gut churning, Sylvia opened the door to her room.

  Inside, she found madness.

  A pair of bunks were set against the walls. On one end were Emily Clark and Riley Smith. On the other rested Natalie Ward and Camila Powell. Friend and enemy. Black and white. A volatile grouping which could only have been made in Hell.

  As expected, the two sides had met in a reaction best described as exothermic.

  “Don’t touch Sylvia’s things!” an angry brunette shrieked, waving her little fists in rage.

  “Oh please,” Camila Powell sneered. “The mad dog wouldn’t get caught dead in a dress like this.”

  With cold, lilac eyes, Camila held up a frilly, pink dress adorned with black ribbons. If worn, the hem would’ve ended just above Sylvia’s knees. It came paired with a set of platform heeled mary janes, complete with adorable bows. The shoes were still in the closet.

  Sylvia had noted the horror immediately. It was, after all, a perfect match for Emily’s yellow dress.

  “And stop calling Sylvia mad dog!” Emily retorted. “That’s mean.”

  … Er, Sylvia actually considered the title a compliment….

  “I hate to break it to you, murder bimbo, but that girl is a complete psycho,” Camila explained slowly, as though talking to a dim witted fool. “Only a crazy bitch would throw herself atop a blood wolf.”

  Okay. That was uncalled-for. Sylvia didn’t throw herself on the blood wolf for fun. It was just how things ended up. Also, while she was fond of mad dog, she could do without the ‘B’ word getting thrown around.

  Especially in the context of her being atop a wolf.

  “Sylvia’s the sweetest, purest, and most adorable girl in the whole wide world!” Emily countered, her dark emerald eyes narrowed. “I dare you to say otherwise.”

  …

  Yeah. Emily had a few screws loose.

  Riley pinched her nose.

  “Emily,” the blonde said, wearily. “We both know the only way Sylvia is wearing that dress is if you sell her out to charm club.”

  “Ri~le~y,” Emily cried, in a shrill warning. “Take that back! I’d never betray Sylvia. I’m just helping her find her true self.”

  In other words, Emily was totally going to sell her out.

  Why was she friends with these people again?

  “Rather than argue, it would be better to ask her yourself,” Natalie Ward interrupted, her tone prim and proper.

  Quiet fell upon the room. Four pairs of eyes focused on the door. Sylvia let out a cough then stepped through the frame.

  “Hello,” she said with a lazy wave. “Yes, I’m here. Yes, I’m alive. And yes, I’d rather die than wear that dress.”

  Emily’s cheeks puffed. Camila wore a scornful smirk.

  “Also, you should put that back in the closet before Emily kills you,” Sylvia continued, gaze falling upon the dark haired witch. “After which, the dean will resurrect you, then kill you again. Because she is the one who bought that dress and put it in my closet.”

  Sylvia’s eyes were filled with warning. Even if she hated the clothes inside, that didn’t mean she wanted strangers pawing through her stuff.

  Camila’s expression turned stiff. Robotically, she returned the monstrosity to the abyss from whence it came.

  “Huh?” Riley quirked her head. “I thought Emily gave it to you. The dress is pretty much a color shifted match for the one she was wearing during the Festival of Light.”

  “Apparently, the two have a similar taste in clothes,” Sylvia said, tone biting.

  “See? It was meant to be,” Emily said, dreamily. The brunette spun on her toes. “We’ll look so cute together.”

  Sylvia’s stomach lurched at the childish display.

  “I heard you were missing,” Riley questioned, speaking over the brunette.

  “I jumped out of the airship before it exploded,” Sylvia explained. She looked around. No bed for her. “Then we had to fight off a few hundred shamblers.”

  Technically, Sylvia could’ve left right then and there. She could fly, after all. But that would’ve been a dick move.

  “Shamblers?” Riley pressed.

  “Zombies,” Sylvia supplied. Which they basically were. “Flaming zombies. Flaming, running, climbing zombies. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  She paused. Her eyes fell on Emily. The cute brunette gazed back, her dark green eyes like shimmering, star filled voids.

  She could stop right here.

  She could continue to pretend.

  She wanted to pretend.

  Instead, Sylvia spoke.

  “Emily,” she said, throat tight. “We need to talk.”

  “Eh?” Emily cocked her head to the side cutely. “Are you okay, Sylvia?”

  “I’m fine,” Sylvia rejected. Then she breathed, trying to calm her anxiety. “I’m fine. But we need to talk. Privately.”

  “Uhm.”

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Emily glanced around at the girls in the room. The tomboyish blonde gazed at Sylvia, green eyes sharp and intense. Camila’s expression was cold and judgmental. The first to move was Natalie. The lady sat up, snapping her book closed. Then, she dropped from the top bunk.

  “Camila, I want to breathe fresh air,” the forest haired witch said. “Preferably, without the noise.”

  So said, the woman brushed past the door, sparing Sylvia not a glance. The green haired witch’s poise and manner were those of refined elegance. Camila followed with a gangster strut. Her smile was cruel, her lilac eyes glinting.

  “See you later, mad dog,” the dark haired witch said as she left. “And don’t let the bimbo turn you into one of her own.”

  “What Emily does or doesn’t do is between her and me,” Sylvia returned, icily.

  “That’s right!” Emily shouted after the dark haired witch.

  “I wonder how long you two will remain friends,” Camila sneered before disappearing around the corner.

  That one hit a little close to home.

  “She’s so mean,” Emily muttered, cheeks puffed.

  Sylvia walked into the room. Her gaze fell upon Riley. The blonde pointed at herself, questioning.

  “Me too?”

  Sylvia closed her eyes. Riley. Her best friend. Not just in the netherworld. Her best friend, period. No one had ever been as close to her as Riley had. Not her parents. Not her cousins.

  But some secrets weren’t so easily shared.

  Even if Riley was the second most deserving person she knew.

  “Yeah,” Sylvia breathed. “You should.”

  The freckled blonde hopped off the bunk.

  “I don’t know what’s going on,” Riley said, putting a hand on the silver-haired girl’s shoulder as she passed. “But whatever it is, both of you have good hearts. Remember that.”

  Emily nodded quickly. “I know.”

  “I know you know,” Riley said, before closing the door. “But Sylvia’s not good with people. So you have to tell her these things straight up.”

  Thud.

  Now, they were alone.

  “You should cast your privacy spells,” Sylvia said, after throwing the bolt.

  The silver-haired girl crossed and dropped onto Camila’s bunk. Her nose scrunched. The smell was wrong. Sylvia was used to the scent of Emily and Riley. The faint whiff of others intruding into her private space was vexing.

  The brunette peered across the room, eyes filled with concern.

  “The dress was a little much, don’t you think?” Sylvia pointed out, when the silence dragged on too long. “You told me you wanted to wear matching dresses that night.”

  The brunette stayed silent. Not a single word in defense. So, Sylvia continued, letting the words she’d been keeping inside flow out.

  “When I thought back, it was obvious. The morning Riley cut my hair, you cried. A few hours later, I’m in charm club, and it was longer than ever,” Sylvia explained. “At first, I thought the staff was being strict. But they never really cared, did they?”

  “Sylvi – ”

  Sylvia cut her off.

  “Then there was Armed Combat class. You were the first to use mana. You were too good with a spear. Too sharp with your timing. After, you buddied up with us. That’s because you noticed it, the way I pulled blood – ”

  This time, when Emily interrupted, Sylvia fell silent.

  “■■, ■■■, ■■.”

  A chant. Smooth and quick. A dozen runes flowing out with each syllable. The air buzzed. The room was sealed.

  Sylvia wasn’t surprised.

  Emily Clark had another name. And that name was Esmeralda Vallenfelt.

  The silver-haired witch’s gaze floated just above the brunette’s head, expecting the label to change. It didn’t. The text was unmoved. C-I/Mid. The class and rank shared by the upper half of Sylvia’s grade. A typical first year, about to start on her second.

  Sylvia knew for sure, Emily’s strength couldn’t be that low.

  “You found out,” the brunette said, smiling weakly.

  “I did.”

  “The dress really was too much, wasn’t it?” Emily murmured to herself. “Mmm, I was going to tell you. After the tournament.”

  “When your souls merged,” Sylvia finished.

  “I’m surprised,” Emily said. “It’s not easy to figure out, not without knowing....”

  That Esmeralda had a clone. Yeah. If Lucifer hadn’t dropped that hint, Sylvia probably would’ve missed it.

  “I read a lot of books.”

  “You do!” Emily cheered with a big smile. “I always liked that about you. I’m really impressed!”

  Sylvia gazed across the room. “Why?”

  Emily giggled. “I didn’t clone myself to keep an eye on you. It just happened. When I saw you absorb blood essence, I decided you were suspicious.”

  “So, to investigate, you became my roommate,” Sylvia groaned. “Ugh. That’s so cliché.”

  “I may have been inspired by TV shows,” Emily admitted.

  Sylvia wanted to laugh. She wanted to make fun of the brunette for being stupid. Strange. The truth was out. So why was Sylvia relaxing? Why did things feel as though they were being drawn back to where they started?

  The smiles were the same. The jokes were the same. The feeling was the same.

  It was as though nothing had changed.

  Yet, when she focused, Sylvia could sense the difference. The shift in the atmosphere. Emily stood a little straighter. Her posture was a touch more formal. There was an air about her. An authority the brunette had never projected.

  “Can you tell me one thing?” Sylvia forced herself to ask.

  “Of course, my adorable apprentice,” Emily teased in a manner that was as prim as it was cute.

  “Was any of it real?”

  This was the question which had been haunting her.

  Emily Clark was a facade. An act. A guise. And if she was an illusion, then how many of their shared moments were true? Were the times they spent together forged of genuine emotion, or was it a play orchestrated by an old witch?

  Sylvia didn’t hate Esmeralda Vallenfelt. Not anymore. But Emily Clark was something Esmeralda Vallenfelt could never be. A friend.

  Sylvia didn’t want to lose her friend.

  Emily sighed. The brunette sat down, taking the bunk opposite her. “Sylvia, how much do you know about transmigration?”

  “Transmigration means starting anew,” Sylvia answered. “When demons undergo consolidation and mutation, their nether code changes. These changes transform both the soul and the code, increasing the compatibility between them. Transmigration is the process of shedding the outer layers of the soul so they can be regrown in a purer and more perfect form. This allows a demon to recultivate from the beginning, with a better, stronger foundation.”

  In System terms, transmigration meant resetting your level back to zero. In exchange, a demon would pay less experience to level up. Talent was exponential. A halving of cost through level 300 meant that the experience required to reach 600 would be quartered. For 900, it would be reduced to an eighth.

  Even tiny changes in talent paid dividends.

  Beyond this, transmigration offered a chance to restore the outer membrane. The external layer of the soul accumulated damage over time, some by the wear of the world, others through injuries and attacks directed against the soul. This, too, eroded talent.

  “An excellent answer!” Emily praised, clapping happily. “Sylvia is so smart.”

  Sylvia rolled her eyes. “I’m not six.”

  “No, you’re twelve. Twelve months,” Emily teased. Her emerald eyes danced. “My little baby girl is as cute as she is brilliant.”

  Sylvia gave her a dead eyed look. There it was again. That weird feeling. An Emily that was not Emily but, at the same time, nothing like Lady Vallenfelt.

  “Transmigration isn’t just the replacement of the outer membranes, it’s a cleansing of the core,” Emily explained. “When we transmigrate, we let our naked soul sink into Unus Mundus so our burdens can be washed away by the collective unconsciousness of mankind. Transmigration is a rebirth and renewal. When you open your eyes after, it’s like you’re seeing the world for the first time. Everything is so raw and beautiful.”

  The brunette sighed dreamily, as though she were imagining something romantic.

  “But you keep your memories.”

  “Mm-hmm,” Emily noised in agreement. “Yes, but they don’t have the same weight. It’s impossible to explain without experiencing it. You’re you, but not you. You haven’t lost anything, but you are new. That’s why demons transmigrate every hundred years or so. A millennium is too long. It wears on the human mind and the human soul. Without this renewal, everything loses its shine and meaning.”

  Sylvia nodded.

  “So,” Sylvia began. “You’re saying you’re a brand-new Esmeralda Vallenfelt.”

  “No, no, no, I’m Emily Clark,” the brunette corrected, wagging a finger. “When Esmeralda split her soul, my part transmigrated. Then, my cleansed soul was placed in the body of a newborn girl named Emily Clark. I spent ten years on Earth. I went to school. I had friends. I had a father that loved me. I even had an adopted sister.

  “I am Emily Clark. I am also Esmeralda. I’m not one or the other. I’m both,” she continued. “She’s just Esmeralda.”

  “Until your souls merge again.”

  “Yes, until our souls merge again.”

  …

  …

  “In other words, you’re a ten-year-old brat,” Sylvia clarified.

  “Eh!” Emily exclaimed.

  The silver-haired witch nodded wisely. Everything made sense. Why was Emily so childish? Why did Emily want to wrap her in pink dresses and cute ribbons? Because the little imp was a ten-year-old girl.

  “Punishment!” Emily yelled. She waved an adorable fist in the air. “You can’t talk to your master like that. Pigtail punishment. From now on, you have to wear your hair in cute pigtails.”

  “No way.”

  “Yes way. I’m your teacher, you have to do what I say.”

  “Nope. Not happening,” Sylvia said in bland disregard.

  “If Esmeralda told you to do it, you would,” Emily accused.

  “That’s different – oof.”

  A brunette bullet crashed into Sylvia’s chest. The silver-haired witch was knocked down, her body flopping back onto the bottom bunk. The mattress squished beneath her, bearing the weight of two girls.

  Soft.

  Emily was soft. The delicate brunette was just a touch smaller than Sylvia herself. She felt nice. Warm. Her smell was right. Comforting. Familiar. Sylvia felt as if she could drift away while in Emily’s embrace.

  “All better now?” Emily asked, peering up at her.

  “As long as you don’t touch my hair.”

  “Hmph, you brought that on yourself,” Emily huffed. “But I’ll let you go if we wear matching dresses. I even got you a hat.”

  The brunette’s shadowy green eyes showed a hint of betrayal.

  “Fine,” Sylvia groaned. She’d do it for the hat. “I’ll wear it once. Just once and only once.”

  Hmm, would Esmeralda hug her like this when the two rejoined? Sylvia tried to imagine her gorgeous teacher clinging to her. Lady Vallenfelt’s magnificent eyes gazing into her own. Her lips opened. With a stern command, the baroness told Sylvia to promptly straighten her posture.

  Shaking her head, Sylvia focused again on Emily. Her heart couldn't understand the two were the same. Was a relationship really possible?

  Sylvia caught herself. Those thoughts were a little dangerous.

  Ten years old. She’s ten years old, Sylvia reminded herself.

  ... ten years, plus two centuries ...

  “You know, if it’s pigtail punishment, then aren’t you training me to never wear them like that?” Sylvia pointed out to escape her mental spiral.

  Emily giggled. “That’s okay. I just have to make you wear your hair in perfect, princess pigtails until you fall in love with them. Then, it won’t be a punishment anymore. See, I have it all planned out.”

  Sylvia gave her a dead gaze. “That’s not how it works.”

  “Yes it is.”

  “No. It’s not.”

  Emily smiled like an imp. “Then let’s test it. Scientifically.”

  “Ha, ha, ha,” Sylvia fake laughed. “You know, you need a control group for that.”

  “Riley will be the control, you’ll be the test,” Emily said wisely. “Mmm. I think a hundred years ought to do it. And if a hundred years doesn’t work, we’ll try a thousand!”

  The silver-haired witch sat up. Emily moved away, her body close enough Sylvia could feel the brunette’s breath. Emily’s emerald eyes traced toward Sylvia’s back. Gaze narrowed, Sylvia made her French braid pick itself up then flop over her right shoulder.

  “Mmm,” the girl sounded, cheeks puffed.

  “I’m still wearing a ribbon in it,” Sylvia groaned in disbelief. Her eyes turned to the upper bunk across from them. “What are we going to tell Riley?”

  Also, where were they going to put her bed? In the middle? She didn’t want to sleep in the midst of a warzone.

  Emily sighed. “I worry about that girl.”

  “You and me both.”

  Sylvia was already set to leave the blonde behind. There was no helping it. Sylvia was a full year ahead of her class in every subject. Ten years, maybe even twenty, if Sylvia narrowed the field to combat magic. The rest was a mix of degrees. In terms of power, she rivaled the strongest seventh years.

  And the gap would only yawn wider. As the months passed, Sylvia would consume more skill books. The holes in her knowledge would fill in. Eight skills books equaled eight-thousand hours of training. That was four years of schooling by the simplest measure.

  How in the world was Riley supposed to keep up? How could her friend stand beside her?

  Friendships did not require equality. But, her life as Eric had taught Sylvia that, when two people do not occupy the same space, relationships would grow distant.

  And now, Emily would be leaving too. Then, Riley would be all alone.

  Well. Not really. The blonde tomboy was quick to make friends. Still, it made Sylvia sad.

  “I’ll tell her once I rejoin the two halves of my soul,” the brunette decided. “It won’t be a secret then. If she’s willing, I’ll even take her as an in-name disciple. But, only after I make your apprenticeship official.”

  Sylvia went cold.

  Her breath stopped. Her hands began to shake. A second wave of anxiety washed over her. With terrible clarity, Sylvia remembered that there was a second sword hanging over both of their heads.

  Lucifer, you fucker.

  ‘Much more sympathetic’. This was what the bastard meant. Anger surged. If ‘Emily’ had been pure pretense, this boiling rage would never have arisen. Esmeralda Vallenfelt was cold and rational. No matter what, Sylvia could trust that the baroness would only choose what was best for her.

  Emily was, in certain ways, a kid. Childish. Irrational. Prone to emotion. Easy to manipulate.

  Fury mixed with disgust. Fuck. The Devil was slime. He wanted to use friendship as a weapon. Sylvia couldn’t do it. She shouldn’t do it.

  “Sylvia?”

  Mouth dry, Sylvia searched for the right words. “We should sever the apprenticeship.”

  “What?” Emily’s eyes widened. “No way!”

  “Emily,” Sylvia spoke, squeezing her eyes closed. “I know my backer.”

  “I don’t care who it is. It’s already been decided. You are my apprentice,” Emily insisted.

  The brunette’s eyes were tight and narrowed. Anger. And not a cute anger, either. This was an ire Sylvia had never seen on her friend’s face.

  “Emily,” Sylvia repeated.

  “I. Don’t. Care,” the brunette snarled. “If it’s an arch demon, I’ll fight him for you. You’re mine. I don’t know how my other self treated you, but you’re my apprentice. She only accepted after I forced her into it. Understand? You’re mine. Nobody can take you.”

  “Emily.”

  Mixed with rage were tears. The brunette’s eyes shimmered. Her voice trembled. Sylvia felt a stab of guilt. This was both an old woman, approaching two centuries, and a ten-year-old girl. Smart, cold, and wise. Soft, brash, and fragile.

  Not one or the other. Both at the same time.

  “I’m sorry. I should’ve – ,” she said, wiping away her tears from her eyes. “ – I can’t stop. He he. Look at me. I’m this old and I can’t stop….”

  The petite brunette hiccuped as she tried to compose herself. Sylvia reached over and draped an arm over Emily’s shoulders. Lightly, she pulled the brunette close. Emily blinked a few times, trying to force away the tears.

  Then, after a long moment, Emily pulled away, resting her hands in her lap like a proper lady.

  “Why?” The word was firm but petulant.

  “Because being attached to me is a flippin death sentence. That’s why,” Sylvia explained, frustrated. She closed her eyes. “I’ll talk to Lady Vallenfelt.”

  Emily’s expression turned to ice. Her tone was as sharp and as cold as her eyes. Esmeralda Vallenfelt in the flesh.

  “No. You will speak to me.” Each word was clear and laced with frozen fury. “Who. Is. It?”

  “Emily,” Sylvia pressed, with warning. “He wants me to tell you because he thinks you’re easier to manipulate.”

  “Sylvia Swallows.” Emily spoke the name in the way only an enraged mother could. “If you did not wish for me to pursue this matter, then you should not have implied that our association might lead to my death and, by inference, your own.”

  Well, shit. Sylvia grimaced. “Emily – ”

  Emily’s gaze was chilling. “You think I am too emotional. You think this is a weakness. I disagree. It is because of my feelings that I should be the one to decide. More importantly, I think you mistake how angry I currently am. Sylvia Swallows, you will tell me who dares threaten the soul of my apprentice.”

  Emily was angry all right. She was really, really angry. Sylvia could see the girl’s teeth grinding.

  And she wasn’t wrong either.

  Fuck.

  “How much do you trust your privacy wards?”

  “I see.”

  The tiny brunette promptly stood and walked toward the door. Sylvia frowned, then stood after.

  “So?” she questioned.

  “We are going to my office. Then you will tell me everything.”

  Eyes of emerald, as dark as the frozen void, looked upon the silver-haired witch.

  “And this time, I really am going to punish you.”

  -oOo-

  System Features

  Observe Terrain

  Passive:

  The System will automatically collect data on surrounding structures by means of the User’s sensory organs. This information will be recorded into the System’s database. Maps and mapping information collected by the User will be made available through the HUD.

  Active: 10 to 100 mp (causality)

  The System will emit a runic structure, scanning the local terrain to collect structural data. This information will be stored in the System database. Each scan will collect 1 km2 to 10 km2 of area data, depending on the amount of mana placed in the spell. This scan has limited penetrative capabilities and will not attempt to circumvent wards. It is unlikely that using this feature will be considered a hostile act.

  Sylvia’s notes: There’s also a maps feature in the library section. I should probably buy that.

  Track Threats

  Active: 20 mp (causality)

  The System will emit a runic structure, sweeping an area of 450 meters radius. The general location of hostile forces will then be made visible on the User’s interface. This feature can only provide basic information on the threats, such as their type and species. Persons or people that the User considers friendly will not be marked as threats, even if they have malicious intent, unless revealed by other means.

  Track Threats can be defeated by anti-divination equipment, spells, and techniques. Its use can be detected and may trigger immediate hostile action by the User’s enemies. In extreme cases, activating this feature may result in the User’s location being revealed to the hostile force or to third parties.

  This feature has a duration of 30 seconds, during which time all threats will be labeled and tracked. Afterwards, the System will provide the last known location of the danger until such a time that the information is deemed stale.

  Bestiary

  Shambler C-I/Low

  Type: Helheim/Undead

  Lv: 50

  Hp/Mp: 300 / 55

  Atk/Def: 99 / 30

  Celerity: 100%

  Exp: 112

  Abilities:

  Cursed-Flame Touch, Monstrous Strength I

  Hel Centurion C-II/High

  Type: Helheim/Undead

  Lv: 300

  Hp/Mp: 900 / 300

  Atk/Def: 250 / 85

  Celerity: 200%

  Exp: 1300

  Abilities:

  Command Undead, Death-Fire Art, Spectral Armor

  Hel Hestr C-II/Mid

  Type: Helheim/Undead

  Lv: 225

  Hp/Mp: 850 / 300

  Atk/Def: 175 / 60

  Celerity: 185%

  Dominion: 62

  Exp: 812

  Abilities:

  Nightmare Prance, Rotting Mist