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Netherwitch - 37
🕑 Added 2025-04-15 20:00:08 +0000 UTC<< Chapter 36 | Table of Contents | Chapter 38 >>
Isabella
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Chapter 37
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Sylvia had forgotten how mind-numbing it was to read textbooks.
The asteri made it through the Rhyme of Runes with little trouble. The intermediate course spell theory text had been a boring read, sure, but she’d been able to follow along. There were even a few examples Sylvia found intriguing.
The advanced course text, on the other hand, had been like slogging through a swamp.
Now she was reading Epicyclic Geoglyph Reduction.
The book was a nightmare. A quarter of the pages were dedicated to mathematical theory and formula. The rest were proofs interspersed with a handful of examples. The alien squiggles on the pages were like a hammer beating on her brain.
Oddly, the thrust of the theory was comprehensible. Take a runic string then fold it into a geometric shape. Calculate the arithmancy of the runes adjacent, as well as those above and below. These numbers, in conjunction with additional formula, could tell a mage how much of an impact the rune had on the spell’s mana efficiency. It could also be used to identify whether the number of runes could be further optimized.
Reduction was an important part of spell theory. Sylvia understood this. Drafted chains were a long series pieced together to create a desired effect. But there was a vast difference between a spell that achieved its effect with 50 mana versus 100 mana.
Or, inversely, a spell which required 50 runes to cast instead of 100.
Generating good spells demanded polish. Epicyclic Geoglyph Reduction told Sylvia how to reduce rune formulas to the extreme.
It was just that, beyond this high level description, Sylvia couldn’t grasp any of it. Not the math. Not the theory. Not even the when and why certain geometric formations should be applied.
With a sigh, the witch set down the book and instead gazed at her friend.
“Ready yet?”
“Just a minute.”
Morning light poured through the library’s tall windows to fall upon Riley’s golden hair. The tomboy wore a messy bob like wheat ready for the harvest. Her intense green eyes were fixed on a page of parchment while her hand scratched out a note with a quill.
This was a letter for Emily Clark.
Sylvia had struggled to fill the page herself. So, to appease the beast, the witch had taken the mirror pad out of her soul and shared it with Riley. After removing prior notes, of course. The freckled blonde had been reluctant at first, but five weeks later it was Riley who complained her letters shouldn’t be limited to one page at a time.
“… And done!” Riley said, signing her name with a flourish.
Sylvia grabbed the notebook. She tugged. Riley held on tight, bright green eyes narrowed.
“You aren’t reading my letters, are you?”
“You do realize I keep this book in my soul, right?” Sylvia retorted. “If you don’t want me reading what you wrote, then I suggest you don’t write it.”
Did Riley think Sylvia was the post office? She was an evil witch. An evil witch whose soul had been sold to the Devil’s System. Maintaining privacy was what good witches did, not evil witches. And there was a name for cute little witches whose hearts were filled with kindness and justice. Magical girls. Sylvia sneered the appellation internally.
And in no way shape or form was Sylvia a magical girl. She might be wearing pink high heels with cute bows tied at the back of her calves. She might even have her hair up in adorable, curly twin tails. But she definitely wasn’t a magical girl!
Which meant she was an evil witch. The black witch’s hat she was wearing with its shadowy, silver embroidering was flawless evidence.
Therefore, as was proper for her nature, Sylvia mercilessly tore the mirror pad from Riley’s hand and stuffed it into her soul.
“Next time, I’m telling Emily you’re reading my letters,” Riley retorted.
“I’ll use whiteout,” Sylvia returned ruthlessly.
“Does whiteout even exist in the netherworld?”
It didn’t. And it wouldn’t work if it did. Written text held a psychic imprint. What Sylvia could do was scrub the imprint then transmute the text. But Emily would probably transmute it right back. Then the emeraldette would puff up angrily and berate Sylvia for ruining Riley’s letter.
Silence lingered for a moment. Sylvia hesitated.
“Say, Riley. What kind of girl do you think I am?”
Intense green gazed into fractal pink. Inside Riley’s eyes, Sylvia saw a system of stars haloed by brilliant light.
“You know, I think this might be the first time I’ve ever heard you refer to yourself as a girl,” Riley commented. The blonde studied her friend. “Typically I’d say, be yourself. It’s stupid to worry about what kind of girl you are. Be as manly, sporty, girly, or as nerdy as you want.”
“But I’m pretty sure you already know that and well….”
Riley gestured in Sylvia’s direction with a wry grin.
“Charm Club,” Sylvia supplied.
“Charm Club,” Riley agreed. She paused. “Are they still forcing you?”
Sylvia’s pigtails lifted themselves up and wiggled in midair. “Not the Academy specifically, but you know how Emily is.”
“Emily isn’t the same as forcing,” Riley said bluntly.
Sylvia glowered. What did Riley know? Emily wasn’t using the blonde tomboy as her dress up doll.
“Sure. Sure. You were ‘forced’,” Riley relented dryly. Her gaze turned serious. “Jokes aside, what brought this on?”
“Awakening,” Sylvia answered.
“Awakening?” Riley questioned. “What does that have to do with what kind of girl you are?”
“Everything.” The silver-haired girl gathered her thoughts. “Consolidation means forming a false core. With each new core, the weight of the code placed upon the soul increases. This forces the soul to grow more tightly in the shape of the vessel.”
And as the soul grew closer to the code, a demon’s dysphoria would decrease. In a sense, it was like going through puberty. The nether code imposed new ‘hormones’ on the self, shifting the emotional balance.
Not replacing. Shifting. The distinction was important.
“Awakening is a grand mutation,” Sylvia continued. “Instead of the code imposing on the soul, the soul imposes on the code, transforming the false cores into real. In order to do this, the soul must be stronger than the code, but, more importantly, the contradiction between code and self must be resolved.”
Sylvia wasn’t too concerned about the strength of her soul. This was easily solved by burning 5000 merit points then eating a soul fruit. The resolution of contradiction, however, was a more difficult problem to solve.
“Sounds very mystical,” Riley said plainly.
“That’s the most annoying thing about it,” Sylvia grumbled.
If Awakening was purely mechanical, she’d let her System carry out the process for her.
“I’m still not sure where you’re going with this,” Riley nudged.
“The contradiction between the self and the code can be resolved either by acceptance or by a return to origin,” Sylvia explained. “This is why most demons humanize after Awakening. They become more similar in body and shape to their mortal self.”
“Wait,” Riley said, raising a hand. “Are you saying you might turn back into a man?”
Sylvia grimaced.
“That’s theoretically possible,” Sylvia grudgingly admitted. “Previously male souls Awaken as warlocks in about 1 in 10,000 cases.”
As far as Sylvia knew, souls originating from women never became warlocks. Though, it was hard to be certain. Most demons knew little of their mortal life.
“You don’t sound too optimistic though,” Riley said, green eyes focused.
“Awakening is a mutation,” Sylvia explained. “Demons humanize, they don’t transform into their prior self.”
“But some witches do turn into warlocks,” Riley pointed out.
Sylvia sighed. With a finger, she drew a line of pure mana on the table. The glowing thread of energy bled from blue to pink.
Awakening meant facing herself. It required an honest recognition of what Sylvia wanted, but also an honest acceptance of what she could reach. If a Sylvia wished for more than could be obtained, Awakening would fail. If she reached for too little, leaving the heart longing, then the press of her soul would be too weak to mutate the code.
As for those demons whose desire was too great for what was possible? They had reached the end of their road. Awakening would be forever impossible.
And resolution of contradiction was only the second-largest obstacle to the first grand mutation. The hardest was discovering one’s true heart. Know thyself. These were not mere words for the wise. Demons rarely entered the nether with their mortal memories intact.
To Awaken demanded knowing what their mortal self had lost.
Which was no easy task.
Well, for Sylvia it was relatively easy. But that didn’t mean Awakening was easy.
“Gender is a spectrum,” Sylvia explained. The witch divided the blue and pink line into quartets. “An ordinary man floats around the middle of the left. An ordinary girl is around the middle of the right.”
People were rarely living, breathing stereotypes. The average man would have some feminine traits while the typical woman would sport some masculine characteristics.
This was normal.
Take Riley for example. She was a tomboy, not a trans man. Her gender was probably on the blue side of pink, near the spectrum’s middle.
As for Sylvia? She hesitated. Then, embarrassed, she set her finger down halfway between the center and the male average.
“I’m probably right about here.”
Her pride hurt when saying it, but Awakening demanded Sylvia be forthright. She couldn’t lie to herself. Reality was, Eric had never been a man’s man. He didn’t love sports. He didn’t like big trucks. He had no fascination with guns and alcohol. When it came to masculine hobbies, the closest he came was enjoying a good FPS.
But Eric had never thought of himself as female either.
Gender identity was not gender, just as gender and sex were two different things. Identity was a lot like religion. It was an association of self. A label appended to a person in reflection of their actions and beliefs as well as the observations and prejudices of society.
While Eric’s gender might’ve been more to the pink than average, his gender identity had always been solidly male. If someone said that women are smart or girls are stupid, Eric wouldn’t feel praised or insulted. If an advertisement for cosmetics appeared on TV, Eric would never think the product was aimed at him.
Sylvia though….
Sylvia had one foot in the world of women and another in the world of men. Her gender identity had been eroded. Right now, she was a weirdo attending church on Sunday, the mosque on Saturday, while insisting she was an atheist every other day of the week.
Confused was a generous description.
But what of her gender? Sylvia had a sneaking suspicion it was slowly drifting toward pink. One day, it might even cross over entirely.
Humans were, after all, products of nurture as much as nature. Experience transformed the mind and the person with it. The more time Sylvia spent as a girl, the more she learned what she liked about being a woman. Beyond that, the hecates lineage held a profound and subtle effect of her psyche. The bloodline of witches was steeped in femininity. This was particularly true of the Hecates Magissa Asteri for which all were direct descendants of Esmeralda Vallenfelt.
Emily wasn’t pure barbie pink on the gender line, but she was pretty darn close to it. Her attitudes would be reflected in her code and then faintly impressed upon all asteri.
This was another kind of nature.
It wasn’t enough to flip a man’s gender into that of a woman. Nor was it enough to change a tomboy into an ordinary girl. But it ever so slightly tipped the scale.
“Are you sure you’re not here,” Riley joked, pointing to the female side of the line.
Sylvia’s left lock reached across the table and mashed her friend in the face. The tomboy laughed, trying to bat the silver tress aside.
“Seriously, do you actually want to go back to being a man?” Riley asked as they settled down.
Sylvia shut her eyes. That wasn’t as easy a question as it’d been two years ago.
“Doesn’t matter,” she said eventually. “I won’t Awaken as a warlock. And since I cannot return to origin, I must become what I can accept.”
“So when you ask what kind of girl you are…,” Riley left hanging.
Sylvia nodded. “In order to Awaken, I have to know the who I want to be of the whos I can be. And, to do that, I have to understand who I was and who I am.”
Riley was a distorted mirror. Through her, Sylvia hoped to glimpse her reflection. In fact, Lady Vallenfelt had suggested Sylvia ask this question of all the people close to her. Then she was to deeply consider the difference between the Sylvia seen from the outside and the Sylvia she knew from the inside.
Not that she’d ask Emily. That’d be dumb. The emeraldette would definitely try to brainwash Sylvia into thinking she was a girly girl.
“You want me to be brutally honest then,” Riley confirmed.
“Roast me,” Sylvia commanded, trying to look tough.
“Just so you know, you literally asked for it,” the tomboy returned. Intense green eyes studied her for a long moment. “To start, when I pointed at the pink side of gender spectrum, I was only half joking. I think you’re pretty much dead center.”
…
Sylvia bit her tongue.
“Don’t take it too seriously. Gender isn’t something you can measure in the first place,” Riley continued. “I mean, how do you rate whether a behavior is masculine or feminine? Pink used to be a boy’s color. There are plenty of cultures where men wore makeup, high heels, or even skirts.”
“Personally, I don’t like thinking in terms of gender. If a girl wants to play sports or wear pants, good for her. If she wants to wear a sexy dress, you go girl.”
“And yet, you say I’m dead center,” Sylvia grumbled.
Riley shrugged. “That’s because, to me, you feel as much like a girl as you do a boy. Here. Let me ask you this. Why are you wearing your hair in twin tails?”
“Because Emily forced me to,” Sylvia said bluntly.
“Sure. But why did you let Emily force you?” Riley returned. “And don’t tell me you didn’t. You’re plenty stubborn when you want to be.”
Sylvia opened her mouth then closed it. Why had she? Sylvia often refused Emily’s demands. Initially, Sylvia had accepted because she felt guilty. Then she’d surrendered again because she’d violated Emily’s punishment order. But now?
Why was she wearing them now?
The silver-haired witch sat in silence, not sure how to answer the question. Part of her wanted to make a show of redoing her hair in a French braid right then and there.
“I’m going to ask an important question, Sylvia,” Riley said firmly, green eyes dead serious. “You don’t have to answer. Just think about it. When Emily dolls you up, why do you fight it? Is it because you hate how you look? Or is it that you hate how the clothes feel? Or is it because you’re worried about how other people will perceive you after?”
…
“Don’t get me wrong, it’s normal for a girl to choose a style to project an image,” Riley continued. “Also, you have a very masculine side. You like fighting. You like blowing things up. You hate writing letters. You’re pretty oblivious when it comes relationships. Plus, you’ve got that whole tough guy persona going. Not the fake tough guy either. But the real one that says, I got this. I can take care of it.”
Sylvia looked up.
“But you also have a girly side, Sylvia. That’s why you let Emily bully you. That’s why I let Emily bully you,” Riley said, patting the girl’s hand. “But in other ways, you remind me of my boyfriend. The second one, not the first.”
“The nerd,” Sylvia said bluntly.
“Sylvia, you’re a nerd,” Riley said as though she were revealing a profound truth.
Tch. Just because she had spent most of her free time playing video games didn’t make her a nerd. Sylvia had spent a lot of time shit posting on the internet too!
…
Ugh. Just thinking about Eric’s posts on the net left her ashamed. Back then, she’d been dancing on the edge of neckbeard territory.
“Dead center, huh.”
Sylvia felt a little sour saying it.
“Dead center,” Riley nodded. The tomboy hesitated, one hand scratching a freckled cheek. “But don’t read too much into my impression. I’ve never seen you as Eric. And Sylvia, I don’t think you understand how devastatingly cute you are.”
Pastel pink eyes glared across the table.
“Enough of the heavy stuff,” Riley dismissed. The blonde cracked a broad grin. “Since Awakening means a return to origin, how much taller do you think I’ll get?”
-oOo-
“Sir Bauhin.”
Belkis curtsied. Sylvia copied her sister.
A moment ago, a pair of demons emerged from the forest
The first was a swarthy man a little over six feet tall. He had midnight-blue hair that gleamed under the morning sun. A leather coat draped over his form, a chain shirt glinting beneath. The devil swept the witches with pitch black eyes before offering a firm nod.
The System marked him C-IV/Mid. This man was Pierre Bauhin, a devil of the second consolidation and a werewolf serving under Baron Gris.
Currently, Pierre was in his human form. Upon Awakening, all demons of the Nox Luna genera could switch between three forms: human, wolf, and a half-breed mix. Of these three, their human body was the weakest. However, most werewolves preferred this form outside of battle.
Lyam Gris, the werewolf beside him, was still trapped as a furry. The demon sported charcoal-gray fur paired with striking, steel-blue eyes. The System marked him C-II/High. This was the root of ‘young master’ Lyam’s paranoia and the reason he’d sought Elroy’s ruin. Twenty years past, Lyam had suffered an outer membrane rupture so severe it had ended all hope of crossing the second consolidation in this lifetime.
As with most demons sharing his circumstance, the wolf chose to gather wealth for his next life before transmigrating. But this had opened a gap. Young masters were only young masters because they were new and rising talents, chosen figures trained to lead the next generation. This position, however, was by no means certain. If a greater talent appeared, Lyam’s title could be stricken.
Thus, to ensure his station, Lyam had struck down his competitors first.
“Belkis von Vallenfelt,” Lyam greeted with a half bow. “And Sylvia Swallows.”
“Mr. Gris,” Sylvia returned with a curtsy.
The charcoal-gray wolf grinned, enjoying her polite greeting. Banana Fritter. Sylvia decided curtsies and manners were very much on the list of things she didn’t like about being ‘Sylvia’.
She envied Belkis’ status as a devil which let her ignore the Gris pack’s young master.
The four of them were gathered in the Daylight Forest, a hundred kilometers west of Vallen. Baron Marius’ forces had seen the witches fly off, but there was little they could do about it. The few demons who could give chase would only meet death if forced to fight Belkis and Sylvia alone.
“I expected Lady Vallenfelt,” Pierre stated.
“The two of us will be your guides, if Sir Bauhin doesn’t mind,” Belkis said, her voice gentle and ladylike.
Werewolves organized into packs instead of clans. Lyam Gris was a member of the Gris pack directly under Baron Rupert Gris. Pierre Bauhin, was one of the baron’s retainers whose pack served the fief. Functionally though, they were two separate collectives.
Entering a pack was an honor which had to be earned. Those who’d yet to receive acceptance were instead named by the location of their birth.
Thus, Elroy of Est Sombre was quite literally from the east side of Loge Sombre.
Officially, it was Sir Bauhin who was purchasing Lady Vallenfelt’s fief. He would then be forced to sell to another, leaving the lord’s hands clean of this matter. Lyam Gris, as young master of the Gris pack, was here to oversee the purchase. Sylvia presumed this was to ensure that Bauhin didn’t use this chance to split with his master, vying for the title of baron.
Not that a second consolidation devil had any business seeking true nobility. Lesser nobles were always of the third consolidation or the fourth.
“I can’t say I mind being carried by a pair of beauties,” Lyam said, wearing wolfish smile. “Do you, Sir Bauhin?”
Pierre grunted in response.
“Then if Sir Bauhin would give me but a moment,” Belkis continued politely.
Werewolves hated vampires, this was a well known fact. It was a feud so old it had been embedded in their culture. Vampires insisted on etiquette, lest they be seen as dogs. Werewolves disdained noble decorum, fearing they’d be mistaken for a blood sucking fop.
Though, this had done nothing to stop Elroy and his knightly manner.
Lady Vallenfelt had warned them of this. She had also made clear that her apprentices were ladies and were to always act as such.
Even if it were trying.
Belkis’s fake smile dropped when she started her chant. Thirty-six syllables wove the catalyst circle. Forty-three formed the gate. Mana whirled around her, natured by ethers of void and space drawn from the prisma’s small source. The two were then catalyzed into the element realm.
Sky sparked, a swirl cut a portal through the plane.
“After you, Sir Bauhin,” Belkis said with a polite gesture.
Offering no more than a nod, the devil stepped through. Voomp. The witch with golden-brown hair followed right after. Voomp.
The gate snapped closed. Sylvia was alone with Lyam Gris.
“I suppose I’m next,” Lyam spoke conversationally.
The haughty master wore a hungry smile, his eyes licking the witch from head to toe. The creepy leer recalled memories of Dumas, but Lyam’s steel-blue gaze held a glint of cunning the other lacked.
Sylvia’s expression turned cold. This wasn’t the first time she’d been checked out by a man, and it wouldn’t be the last. But she didn’t like it. She didn’t like it, at all.
“If you would wait another minute, Mr. Gris.”
It wasn’t that Sylvia wanted to wait. Rather, she was forced to let the gate’s frame settle.
“You’d prettier if you smiled,” Lyam commented. “Cute girl like you should strive to be warm and sweet. That’ll win you more friends than pretending you’re an ice princess.”
Sylvia’s gaze sharpened, her visage growing dark. This mangy mutt. The asteri’s teeth ground. She counted off a few painful seconds before wheeling on her heel and starting her chant.
“■■■■ ■■■■■ ■■■ ■■ ■■■■ ■■■■■.”
With a fast incantation she formed the catalyst circle. With experience was born speed. In the last few months, Sylvia had a lot of practice with casting gate, shaving off a few syllables. Unlike her sister, Sylvia had no need to nature her mana. Her core did it for her. Both streams passed through the circle, transmuted into realm.
“■■■■ ■■■■ ■■, ■■ ■■■■ ■■, ■ ■■■■■.”
The chains that followed wove a wreath with silken mana. A final knot was tied. Sylvia tossed the ball through the center. Magic rippled. A blue-green swirl tore through space connecting to a distant waygate.
“I heard rumors about your talent,” Lyam said, eyes of blue striving to pierce through her. The wolf’s lips quirked. “It seems the stories are true.”
“After you, Mr. Gris,” Sylvia returned coldly.
The wolf laughed. “I wonder who is more beautiful, you or Esmeralda Vallenfelt.”
With that said, Lyam Gris stepped through the gate. Voomp. Sylvia felt a sharp tug as her mana was drawn through the catalyst circle to feed the portal. A moment later, the silver-haired witch crossed.
Two thirds of her mana pool was gone, just like that.
Sylvia found herself in a room of sun and stone.
This waygate was set in Vallenfelt Manor, the polished floor depicting the Vallenfelt crest. Morning light filtered through tall windows of stained-glass. Colors poured onto white tile, illuminating a picture of dancing witches in a garden of flowers. The other half of the room was left dark, the floor embedded with luminescent sand so that it resembled a sky of stars.
Sylvia admired the artistry. An image like this could only be made in a world where the sun was forever still.
“Gentlemen, if you would follow me, I will bring you to Lady Vallenfelt,” Belkis said politely.
“I want to see what we’re buying first,” Lyam Gris objected. “Unless you ladies think the Academy has nothing worth selling.”
Belkis’s smile turned stiff, her eyes roiling cauldrons of volcanic fury. Everyone here knew the thing being purchased wasn’t a fief, but the right to intervene in the war.
This wolf, what was his game? Was he merely enjoying his moment of power? Or was there something more?
Sylvia stepped in, voice like ice. “Sister, if you don’t mind, I’ll take Mr. Gris on a tour of the Academy.”
Lyam smirked, his gaze falling on her. Sylvia was glad she was wearing her black robes and white dress, otherwise the werewolf would be staring straight at her chest.
Her fingers twitched. Should she kill him? No. No. She didn’t have a good enough excuse. First, she’d let Lyam step over the line, then she’d kill him.
And maybe, she’d remind the werewolf why witches had such bad reputations while she was at it.
“Thank you, Sylvia,” Belkis replied, her tone dangerously sweet.
Pierre Bauhin grunted. When attention fell on him, he spoke with a gruff and deep voice. “Show me my room first. It was a long journey from Loge Sombre to the Daylight Forest. We’ll meet the baroness in an hour.”
The devil’s pitch black eyes shot Lyam a look of warning. The Gris pack young master pretended he hadn’t seen.
“I suppose that’ll give me enough time to admire the flowers,” Lyam joked.
Flowers. Yeah. Sure. That’s what he’d be admiring.
Sylvia had a touch of sympathy on the subject. She, too, admired the flowers. Though, Sylvia strove to be more circumspect. She could even understand the temptation. Loge Sombre was filled with werewolves and werewolves were furries. Demons were creatures with human souls. For most wolves, their ideal woman was far closer to magissa or xemyalistra in shape.
“Then I will inform Master of your intentions,” Belkis said, polite words sharp. “Junior sister, make sure our guest does not get lost.”
The dark-skinned prisma promptly turned and walked out of the room. Pierre followed behind, unbothered.
“This way, Mr. Gris.”
With the charcoal-gray werewolf at her side, Sylvia led him along the path and out into the Academy’s eternal morn.
The Academy no longer displayed its pure beauty.
While forest still crowded around Vallenfelt Manor, the trees had been cut everywhere to the south. Instead of nature, the view was one of scattered buildings and barracks. The once lovely lawn had been torn up by tools, demons, soldiers and the occasional flame mortar cast by the rebel’s army.
To the east and west, things were a little better. Wooden palisades rimmed the ridge, guarded by squat towers. On many of those towers were mounted ballista.
The Academy gates, previously no more than an arch, had been replaced by heavy doors and rugged stone columns. A lightning cannon was mounted on the tower to the right, while the left bore a heavy ballista instead.
The core of the Academy had been likewise marred by the arrival of war. The Grounds had become a mess training fields. While Sylvia was gone, the Recreation Hall had been repurposed so that craftsman had a better place to work their art. The Academic Building was closer to its true self, but even it had been altered. The roofs of the east and west wings now sported broad platforms. On one was a lightning cannon. On the other, a flame mortar. Four ballistas provided a second screen of defense.
Only the north was untouched, the dorms and Resurrection Pool were exactly as she remembered.
Lyam Gris paid little attention to this. Instead, his eyes traced the paths and gardens, lingering upon the pretty witches relaxing among them.
“So this is the famous Starlight Nether Witch Academy,” Lyam said with admiration. Lecherous eyes studied a bluette’s butt. “Truly a world of witches. One would think the land untouched by the specter of war.”
“Then you should’ve seen the Academy before it was fortified,” Sylvia rejected. “Or, if you’d like to see how untouched Vallen really is, perhaps I should bring you to the southern walls so you can view Old Vallen.”
“Sylvia Swallows, was it?” Lyam said suddenly, steel-blue eyes veering toward her.
“That’s my name,” Sylvia confirmed.
The wolf grinned. “Esmeralda Vallenfelt certainly has an apprentice by that name.”
Pastel pink eyes narrowed. “What are you implying?”
“Let’s drop the pretense,” Lyam said ruthlessly. His eyes showed a predatory light. “Can this little garden of yours stand long enough for a deal to be made?”
“Clara Arbores lacks the strength to pierce Vallen’s walls,” Sylvia replied steadily. “Also, I was under the impression that Sir Bauhin was purchasing the fief.”
What right did a mere young master have in this conversation?
“And the Gris family will provide Bauhin with the funding,” Lyam excused, ignoring the subtle reminder. “It is my job to ensure our investment won’t be wasted.”
Sylvia scoffed.
“Vallen sports two lightning cannons, a flame mortar, and numerous ballista. The Fortress of Dawn sits only two kilometers to our east and is equipped with the same,” Sylvia answered. They had lost one cannon during the siege, but the rebels had lost two. “As for Baron Maxim? His forces have no more than pair of cannons and a single mortar. Clara Arbores is only our better when it comes to phantasms, but even there the number has been halved since the start of this war.”
That was to say nothing of Vallen’s greatest advantage, energy. Vallen had massive ether channels built into the butte. Because of this, their cannons could fire five to six times faster. Furthermore, powerful wards protected these weapons.
With this superiority, the Academy could fire as they willed. Cannons could be used to pick off targets of lower value. Second consolidation demons. Hel centurions. Golden arktos. Death knights. Ballista. Meanwhile, the rebels were forced to hold their siege weapons in reserve in order to suppress strategic threats. Even then, using them would place the weapons under serious risk.
This was the reason for Marius’s siege. A direct attack would only serve Vallen’s interest. The best he could do was starve them out. Not in terms of food, as demons didn’t eat, but in terms of resources. Eventually, Vallen would lack the wood and stone to rebuild damaged defenses.
In fact, they were close to losing their ability to make new ballista already.
“But there’s the hang-up,” Lyam said with a slimy smile. “If we buy your Academy, how many witches will come with it? And if Vallen loses half its defenses, how long can it stand after?”
Sylvia’s gaze hardened. “The Academy isn’t in the business of selling people.”
“Not people. Debts,” Lyam said, pinching his fingers together. “The baroness is divesting so surely you’d be interested in selling debt.”
“Mr. Gris, I believe this topic best discussed with Lady Vallenfelt and Sir Bauhin present,” Sylvia coldly cut off.
No matter how Lyam framed it, selling debt was no different than selling a person. Though it wasn’t the same as slavery, a debt represented a great deal of leverage over a witch. This was particularly true in the midst of war, when many graduates suffered from an unsteady income.
As for those who could meet their payments? There were far too many ways to maliciously create circumstances where funding was severed. Especially in war.
“Of course, of course. I’d forgotten you are Lady Swallows, apprentice to Esmeralda Vallenfelt,” Lyam apologized. “It’s just the Gris family is concerned. What use is a witch academy without any witches?”
“I’ll be sure to share your worries with the baroness,” Sylvia said stiffly. “What would you like to visit first, Mr. Gris? The Grounds. The Recreation Hall. Or perhaps the Academic Building?”
Lyam’s smile was pure slime. “I was hoping to see the dormitories.”
“I’m afraid the dormitories are off limits.”
-oOo-
“We made a mistake.”
Lady Vallenfelt, Belkis, and Sylvia were gathered around the small table in Esmeralda’s office. Morning light shone through, as always, despite the bell having rung late evening. Both werewolves had retired to their quarters, though they were by no means forbidden from wandering the grounds.
“I can’t believe they asked you to sell your girls,” Belkis said angrily.
“Just to be clear,” Sylvia interjected. “We aren’t selling the students’ debts, right?”
“We are not,” Esmeralda said firmly.
Irises of molten iron turned on her. “How could you accuse Master of that?”
Sylvia kept her mouth shut. Lady Vallenfelt was nice, by Hell’s standards. Which was to say, she gave her girls plenty of opportunities to pay her back. But Esmeralda could be cruel. Those who defaulted in the face of the baroness’ grace would be left to mercy of Hell’s courts. Which meant, they were sold as slaves.
Those with their hedge witch certificate might turn out alright, though any form of slavery was prone to abuse. Those without, however….
Shudder.
To this day, Sylvia still couldn’t grasp what made that ‘irregular’ insist so strongly he was a man.
Perhaps this lack of comprehension was a telling aspect of her personality. Something to consider for Awakening, Sylvia mused.
“It’s a shame the plan fell through then, but so what if we can’t sell?” Sylvia shrugged. “The gates are carrying a thousand droms a day. We’ll be up to five thousand in another month. We only need two or three before we can pack all the supplies we want. Then we’ll be gone.”
The missing money would hurt. The next time Sylvia visited Hell, anyway. But that was it. They’d make do.
Belkis shook her head. “I’ve said it before, we can’t go around disappearing witches. Baron Marius will definitely notice then take advantage.”
“He’s a cannon short and who knows how many phantasms and ballistas?” Sylvia reminded. “Is he really in a position to attack even if we withdrawal every witch?”
Over the last month, Belkis, Sylvia – and sometimes Esmeralda – had conducted air raids on the rebel force. Where they could, they’d teased out enemy fire pounding those weapons which revealed themselves. When Clara Arbores kept its precious tools hidden, the two had sniffed out phantasms instead.
In response, Clara Arbores had inched its soldiers back, forcing them to take greater risks to keep up the pressure.
“Marius can make more ballista,” Lady Vallenfelt interrupted. “And he can subdue new phantasms. But it doesn’t matter. As I said we… no I made a mistake.”
Sylvia frowned, looking at her teacher askance. Belkis bristled, but kept her mouth tight. The prisma was very defensive of Lady Vallenfelt, like a child protecting her mother.
Esmeralda spoke evenly, her voice as cool and crisp as it was beautiful. “We approached Baron Gris believing we had a solution to his problem. In doing so, we forgot there was another party equally able.”
Strawberries, Sylvia cursed internally. Finally, it clicked.
“He sold out to the Hoga,” Sylvia concluded.
No wonder Lyam felt free to act like a jerk. He was probably hoping the Academy would break the deal themselves so Rupert Gris would receive no blame for his double-cross.
In fact, the werewolves might be scouting their defenses as they spoke.
“Surely he wouldn’t,” Belkis questioned. “If Baron Gris betrayed the king, his reputation as a noble would be ruined for centuries.”
When Baron Ishii crossed swords with the crown it was in pursuit of interest. In the eyes of outsiders, this was a fight between factions. For this, Goro Ishii would be praised, as the lord revealed he was a man loyal to the concerns of his party.
But for Baron Gris to change sides was a more serious matter. Rupert and Vilhelm were long time friends. Baron Gris was also a formal member of the development faction. His betrayal would carry a serious stain. Not just for the nobles of the plane, but for those everywhere.
Nobody liked a traitor.
Were centuries of struggle worth small gains? Even more so than Lady Vallenfelt, Rupert Gris could just huddle up in his fief collecting funds. Even if he wished to leave, surely the Codrin clan would buy his territory. Loge Sombre was conveniently positioned and enjoyed eternal night. The vampires would love it.
“Rupert is a werewolf. Werewolves are always lax in these matters, particularly when it concerns the vampires,” Esmeralda contradicted. “Even so, it is not like him. He and Vilhelm had a strong bond that precedes their arrival on this plane by centuries. Vilhelm has always made certain that Rupert’s interests were addressed. If it were not so, I wouldn’t have proposed this plan.
“Therefore, I must conclude his problem derives from the Padure clan. The Padure, I know, hold neutral in the ancient feud between vampire and werewolf. But the Padure are only supervising this venture. It is the Tisa clan branch who have provided demons and resources to this cause.”
Sylvia grimaced. Then they could guess the Tisa were bigots who hated wolves.
The clash between the two genera of the Nox lineage was ancient. Vampires and werewolves were pure carnivores. Even at the best of times, they were fighting for access to the same resource.
Belkis shook her head. “I can’t imagine Marquis Padure making such a huge mistake.”
“Which begs the question, was it a mistake?”
Lady Vallenfelt’s words hung in the air. Nandru Padure might well have sent the Tisa to drive the werewolves off. Either to claim a land of night for his clan solely, or to deprive Vilhelm Codrin of excess influence over the emerging state.
“If Baron Gris has already sold out, then the Hoga know our plan,” Sylvia pointed out.
“Correct,” Esmeralda confirmed, returning nebulous eyes to the silver-haired girl. “And that means Clara Arbores will soon see reinforcements.”
Belkis pressed her lips. The mood turned grim. Everyone knew this was bad news.
“Is there anyway we could string them along?” Belkis asked.
“Perhaps for a month,” Esmeralda said. “But we must plan for a rapid unraveling. The Hoga will view our scheme as presumption. Therefore, they will see us punished. The good news is that our existence is too petty for their direct involvement. Therefore, they are likely to carry out this punishment by means of a surrogate. Thus, we can guess Goro Ishii or Tadc Cair will be sent instead.”
Belkis gave a weak smile. “Hopefully, it won’t be both.”
Against Clara Arbores, Vallen could hold firm. If another lord joined the fight, things would be difficult. Perhaps they’d be impossible during an evacuation. If three appeared, Vallen’s stand would be measured in days if not hours.
“One month is not enough time,” Sylvia said, pulling the focus back to the main matter. “We can move, at most, seventy thousand droms in that period. We have a quarter of a million on our list.”
And much of that weight was in phylacteries, witches, and loyalist. None of those things could be left behind. That said, it was impossible to tell how many demons were coming. All the students to be sure, but the graduates could reasonably refuse. People had lives of their own. Some of the ladies had boyfriends or husbands. Not everyone would be willing to leave with the baroness.
“We can send souls without bodies,” Esmeralda said. “With this, we shall cut fifty thousand from your number.”
Sylvia nodded. It wasn’t much, but it’d help. Resurrecting the witches on the other side would be a pain. The pool back at base wasn’t big enough for ten much less one hundred. Then again, it might be better if the demons were raised in batches. This would give them enough time to build a town for everyone to live in.
“We can probably bump the transport by another fifty thousand,” Sylvia sudden realized. If they abused poor Lenape, the turn-over would be greater. “Which would put us closer to closing the gap.”
“And we could dump another fifty thousand in extras,” Belkis added. “But we’ll be slumming it for the first year.”
“I already have a house,” Sylvia mentioned. “And we can’t leave the crafting tools behind. Nor should we leave the gargoyles, if we can avoid it. That’s half the fifty thousand right there.”
“You have a cave,” Lady Vallenfelt announced with disdain. The tone of her voice was exactly like Emily’s.
Belkis snickered. “A cave, little sis.”
“I also built an inn,” Sylvia retorted. Sure it was empty. And had no furniture. But it was, technically, an inn. “And it’s a nice cave with a beautiful porch looking out into a sea of stars.”
Esmeralda decided not to comment further on the subject. No doubt she’d heard all about Sylvia’s cave from Emily. And while Emily was delighted to sleep in the same room as her Sylvia, Lady Vallenfelt was unlikely to share her clone’s enthusiasm.
And Belkis would probably object. Loudly. Sylvia almost chuckled. She could just imagine the little imp proudly declaring: ‘but I always sleep with Sylvia!’
“Should things come to a head, I have five thousand droms of cosmic sap.”
The baroness’ gaze fell on Sylvia. The silver-haired witch took the unspoken words as an order. Opening her governance panel, Sylvia searched for cosmic sap. Wow. The Cloud Island Wilderness had forty million droms of it, with a production rate of two hundred thousand a year.
What a ridiculous number.
It was also reasonably cheap. Thirty-one droms per merit point. In terms of cost, it was cheaper than chaos crystal. She could’ve saved on merit by buying sap instead.
Not that Sylvia regretted her purchase. The sap could only be used once, then it was gone. Crystal was forever. More importantly, Sylvia could recover the merit points spent on the crystal through the quest Soul Vector.
Crying on the inside, Sylvia punched the buy button. Nine tons of sap bought. Bye bye poor little merit points.
“Master, that’d only cover forty thousand droms,” Belkis pointed out.
“Twenty five,” Sylvia corrected, snapping the screen closed after making her purchase. She hoped the emeraldette enjoyed negotiating with ants, because that was the hard part. “It’s a junction gate. Though, I suppose we could cut the link for the last heap. It’s a good backup plan. If the worst happens, we can shove a small army through in the last minute.”
She gave Esmeralda a cautious nod. Belkis’s iron eyes narrowed.
“How are we going to explain the missing girls?” Belkis questioned.
“It’s a grave misfortune, but they died to a lucky strike by Marius’s flame mortar.” Lady Vallenfelt span. “In a show of support for my subjects, I’ll choose not to grant my students favoritism. With the current queue, this means they must wait seven weeks before resurrection.”
A good story. One problem.
“The rebels will know it’s bunk,” Sylvia said. “If Lyam and Pierre are working with them, they’ll ask questions.”
“Of course they will,” Esmeralda confirmed. “Which is why we’ll imply these same juniors will be available for purchase.”
Which would, conveniently, let them string Baron Gris along.
“There will be rumors,” Belkis warned.
“An acceptable outcome. We require little more than a month.” Lady Vallenfelt gazed at both of her apprentices. “Get me that month.”
The meeting was adjourned. Sylvia hurried out. There was a lot of work to do.
-oOo-
Grimoire
Chain Lightning
Runes: 223
Mana: 200 to 800, 5:1
Attack: 900 to 3000
Penetration 200 pierce, 15% DRR, 100% multiplier
Max Range: 5000 meters
Velocity: 3000 m/s
The spell of slaughter. Chain lightning is a sky elemental magic and one of the fiercest anti-army spells in the netherworld. It is fast, long ranged, and nearly impossible to dodge. Ordinary lightning spells can only correct within a one degree cone. Chain lighting allows incredible redirection within a 150-meter column.
In terms of power, range, and velocity chain lightning is near identical to lightning lance. The longer rune chain, however, allows more ether to be placed within it. Like lightning lance, the spell can pierce through multiple foes hitting every target marked by the caster’s intent. Beyond this, chain lightning’s biggest limit is that it can only strike a target once.
While chain lighting has an amazing ability to pierce, when passing through enough enemies, it will eventually be exhausted. Depending on the strength of the target and the spell, this will happen after hitting between 5 and 200 foes.
Skyrending Beam
Runes: 298
Mana: 300 to 2000, 5:1
Attack: 1425 to 7800
Penetration 300 pierce, 15% DRR, 75% multiplier
Max Range: 10 kilometers
Velocity: 5000 m/s
Skyrending beam is a high magic of the calamity element. While it can be used in ordinary combat, it’s generally considered a siege spell. Skyrending beam sports extraordinary range and heavy impact, with both the breadth and penetration necessary to damage large objects and creatures. This makes it an effective tool to kill titans and airships, or to simply bring down towers and walls.
As a calamity spell, skyrending beam contains physical force. Weaker projectiles, and even spells, caught in the beam will often be knocked aside or dispersed. On occasion, this can even result in two beams clashing then struggling for dominance. Though this is quite rare in real combat and typically only occurs when choreographed.
The biggest flaw of this spell is that the beam releases its energy over a 500 millisecond period. While this is short by human scale, demons often have reflexes two to five times faster than those of mortals. This means they have plenty of time to dodge out of the beam, reducing the damage taken.
Outside of war, skyrending beam also suffers from a tendency to massively over penetrate, destroying people, houses, and terrain down stream. Care must be taken, therefore, when this spell is used in smaller scale battles.
The rune sequence and structure of skyrending beam is the basis of the calamity cannon.
Elemental Ward
Runes: 68
Mana: 50/50, 3:1
Resistance: 35% (20%)
Duration: 10 minutes
A defensive spell that reduces the effect of attack magics coming from a single, basic primordial element. The ward operates by dispersing projectiles and redirecting their energies. Elemental ward is usually placed on a barrier frame, which extends the duration to 15 minutes. To achieve maximum effectiveness, the spell needs to be put on the outer layer of the frame. This is to ensure that all barriers and defensive structures beneath benefit from the ward.
Elemental ward can also be placed directly on the caster, but this is not recommended.
Two elemental wards cannot be cast on top of each other, so if a mage wants to shield against all eight basic primordial elements, they need at least seven frames. Furthermore, this ward only disperses elemental energies so earth, metal, and wood magics of a strong physical character will only be partially diminished (20% resistance).
If not used in conjunction with a barrier frame, this magic will also reduce the power of the caster’s spells. Finally, wards of the same type do not stack.
While elemental ward is generally considered law magic, the spell requires an elemental mix. Of the cost, 50 mp must come from law and the other 50 mp from the targeted element.
Comments
awelonblue
I imagine Riley feels about most of her textbooks the way Sylvia feels about Epicyclic Geoglyph Reduction.
awelonblue
I expect Rupert Gris will be hurting very soon. The Tisa clan of vampires was intentionally pushing him to break his alliance, and will surely be prepared for him to do so. Not that this will help Vallen.
Steve Barbour
I suspect such a scenario would incur some very nasty arguments from the various covens.
MadGod
So then, are hermaphrodites considered witches or warlocks?
Inv7ctus
I enjoyed the conversation on gender and awakening in this chapter. Self reflection and maturation are some of my favorite story elements., and this chapter handled the gender discussion very eloquently. Well done,
Jayem
Sylvia’s identity introspection interlaced throughout the chapters is very fun to read. Also back room schemes!
Brantal
Hurry hurry scurry! TFTC!
Katherine
Yay! Empress Sylvia discusses logistics! :D
