-oOo-

Chapter 5

-oOo-

“Can I change it?”

Sylvia’s cheeks were burning. She looked at Emily, searching for pity. Her visage that of a puppy begging for mercy. But not an ounce of forgiveness could be found in the brunette’s cruel, dark emerald eyes.

A week had passed in a flash.

One would think being snatched into Hell’s fiery embrace would change things. But school, apparently, was school no matter where or in which universe. After six days of classes followed by one day off, Sylvia found herself sinking into a rut. Mornings were consumed by lectures. Afternoons were devoured by books.

Not that there was an actual afternoon in this godforsaken place.

Yet, in this all too conventional misery, Sylvia had found a point of light. During this morning’s prep Wizard Means Wise I had reached completion. On a different day, she might have celebrated.

But today all joy had been dashed by the demon Sylvia named friend. Emily Clark.

And what unforgivable, nefarious thing had this monster wrought? Why, the barbarous brunette had arranged Sylvia’s hair into a pair of cutesy twin tails. The long, glossy locks dangled around Sylvia’s knees, complimented by a pair of absolutely adorable pink bows.

Hell’s savagery knew no bounds.

“Don’t worry. You’re super cute,” Emily encouraged, her void-like eyes akin a black hole found at the center of a galaxy.

Fucking charm club. What was wrong with a ponytail? Lots of girls wore ponytails. But no. That didn’t pass Kyna’s muster and thus Sylvia was condemned to serve as Emily’s favorite doll.

“It could be worse,” Riley comforted. “She could’ve made them curly.”

Emily’s eyes lit up. “Oh!”

Sylvia wanted to cry.

“Stop being a wuss,” Riley said, pushing the silver haired girl toward the entrance. “Nobody’s going to bite.”

Sylvia gazed at the door. Her stomach did somersaults. The feeling was worse than walking through the halls for the first time in her schoolgirl uniform. At least back then Sylvia could tell herself that she was part of the crowd. Now?

Now she looked like a girly girl.

“At least I have my hat,” Sylvia muttered, patting her beret as though it would make her twin tails disappear.

Riley rolled her eyes. “I hate to break it to you, that beret makes you like a bishoujo sergeant from an anime.”

“Are you saying I’m a 2D waifu?” Sylvia questioned, threateningly. “I won’t let you slander the hat.”

Berets were, objectively speaking, awesome hats. The flat top and trim profile suited anyone. It was an artist’s hat, a fashionable hat, and a military hat.

Yes, military. Meaning manly. A manly hat for Sylvia’s manly heart. Sure, it would’ve been more manly without the arrangement of pastel pink flowers set elegantly off center. And no, the fact they complimented Sylvia’s disgustingly cute, candy pink eyes did not make them better.

Also, Sylvia needed to wear something stylish otherwise Emily would be doing Sylvia’s hair for the next three weeks. And if Sylvia didn’t pass Kyna’s examination at least thrice, Emily would choose Sylvia’s hairstyle for the rest of the year.

But mostly, berets were fucking awesome.

“Mmm,” Emily noised. “I never knew Sylvia loved hats.”

“It’s not my fault I look so damn perfect in them,” Sylvia replied, arrogantly.

Emily giggled at her theatrics.

“Come on. Stop stalling, you’re not getting her to change your hair back,” Riley grouched, giving the silver haired girl a shove.

“Mm~hmm,” Emily hummed in happy concurrence. “I will slowly break down Sylvia’s resistance to cuteness then transform her into an adorable princess.”

Clenching her dainty hands into fists, the brunette shook them excitedly in the air. The freckled blonde had enough. Wasting no more time, Riley physically dragged Sylvia into Field Studies class.

Sylvia’s fears did not manifest. The class did not stop and stare. Nobody shouted, are you six. Or, what a sissy. In fact, nobody commented on Sylvia at all.

Which, given the circumstances, wasn’t surprising.

Bang!

Margret Rivera let out a short shriek before hitting the ground. Camila Powell shoved a textbook off the desk, letting it fall directly onto the face of the shy girl with pale green hair. Flustered, Margret’s friend and dorm mate Valarie Baker jumped to her feet.

But Valarie didn’t say or do anything. Camila’s cold, lilac eyes met Valerie’s. She sneered.

“Cowards sit in the back.”

Riley’s expression darkened.

Sylvia didn’t know Margret’s story, but she knew Valerie’s. Valerie was one of the ignoble duo they ‘saved’ during the first Armed Combat class. You know, the selfish shits that sat back and did absolutely fucking nothing while the three of them fought off the beryl blood wolf?

Yeah. That girl.

Call it petty or vindictive, but Sylvia had no desire to step in on Valerie’s behalf. Riley, however, was a more righteous person.

“Hey! Leave her alone!” The freckled blonde shouted. Riley’s intense green eyes practically glowed.

Camila turned. The witch had blue hair so dark it was better described as black. Her mane was ragged, wild, and cut short in a way Sylvia wished she was allowed to wear hers. The lilac eyed girl wore a smarmy smile, that contrasted with her natural softness.

“The white knight shows her face,” Camila crowed, not the least bit afraid.

Camila was part of Natalie’s crew and by far the most vicious. Like most of the Academy’s cliques, the group had formed around Natalie Ward’s roommates Camila Powell and Heather Grenier. The group had expanded from there drawing in survivors from Isabella’s first Armed Combat class.

Riley didn’t say anything. Instead, the freckled blonde stooped down and helped Margret to her feet.

“You okay?”

“Th-thanks,” Margret stuttered.

Camila grinned and kicked the girl’s chair. Squeee. The wooden legs squealed on the floor, not tipping over. “Cowards sit in back,” she repeated.

Cold. Hard. Cruel. Unyielding. Camila wasn’t just a petty bully. She’d stared down a beryl blood wolf, spear in hand.

Sylvia, on the other hand, had fought two.

Reee. The silver haired girl pushed the chair back where it belonged, irritated. Sylvia’s character leaned toward ignoring confrontations like this, even without the spite. Abject, certainly, but Sylvia was well aware she was no hero.

“Are you trying to piss off the staff?” Sylvia asked.

Camila’s eyes shifted to her. The lilac eyed girl immediately sputtered. “Pffft. What the hell is this? The mad dog turned herself into a princess.”

Sylvia’s eye twitched. Yeah. There it was. The reaction she’d been expecting. Sylvia wanted to shrink back. She didn’t. Instead, she stiffened her spine. Stepping back would only make her look more pathetic.

“Mad dog? More like dumpster dog,” Heather sneered from three seats down. “Look at you, trying to be pretty. Give it up. At least Riley knows she’s hopeless.”

“Mmm!” Emily hummed angrily, inserting herself into the fight. The brunette glared, looking as threatening as toddler carrying a teddy bear. “Sylvia is adorable and you know it!”

“Scary, scary,” Camila mocked.

“Let them play dress up if they wish,” a cultured voice interrupted. “We are here to learn magic, not adorn ourselves like dolls.” Natalie Ward paused then casually flipped her wavy, forest green hair.

Natalie took her seat gracefully. Refined. Elegant. Natalie’s demeanor was that of a living, breathing depiction of a lady. Of Sylvia’s class, only Emily matched Natalie’s poise, and the brunette was more cute than courtly.

“I’ll find another seat,” Margret muttered, grabbing her things.

Sylvia scowled. Why did she get dragged into this again? Right. Riley. Shaking her head, the silver haired girl made her way back to her seat.

One step behind, Riley grumbled, “Weren’t they the ones who wanted to join charm club?”

Emily nodded wisely, daintily taking her chair. “They’re jealous because they know they’ll never be as cute as Sylvia.”

Sylvia dropped her forehead onto the table with a thunk. Please, please, have mercy Emily. She had the soul of a man. She didn’t want to be cute.

“Why the hell are those bitches picking fights when the Academy kidnapped us?”

Emily glared. “That’s not a nice word,” she warned.

“They’re not nice people,” Riley retorted.

The room quieted for a bit. In the pause, Riley’s question continued to roll around in Sylvia’s head. Why fight after being kidnapped?

Kidnapped.

Were they really kidnapped? The idea struck Sylvia like thunder.

“Maybe they weren’t.”

“Weren’t what?” Riley asked, confused.

“Kidnapped,” Sylvia supplied.

Riley turned, green eyes blazing like those of an angry dragon. “Is that a joke?”

Sylvia gazed at the freckled blonde beside her. She wasn’t joking. The more Sylvia thought about it, the more right she felt she was.

“Were you kidnapped?” Sylvia asked seriously.

Riley glowered. “I didn’t exactly volunteer.”

“But you had plenty of reasons to leave Earth,” Sylvia pressed.

“My circumstances were special,” Riley said, unhappily. The blonde clearly didn’t enjoy where the questions were going. “You know that.”

“Yeah, but you aren’t exactly opposed to being here,” Sylvia continued.

“Fair enough,” Riley agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I want to be here either.”

This was where Sylvia turned toward the curious brunette on her left.

“If I’m not wrong, Emily is actually happy to be here.”

Emily nodded. “Of course! It’s a magic academy. We’re going to learn how to cast spells and maybe even fly on brooms!” The brunette let out a dreamy sigh before cocking her head adorably. “Aren’t you happy too?”

Riley frowned. With intense green eyes, Riley studied the delicate girl. Then her gaze shifted to the class beyond.

“You’re saying,” Riley slowly mused. “That everyone has a reason.”

“Yes,” Sylvia confirmed. She also had a reason. Her reason was the System suckering her into grabbing an invitation with a quest. “Think about it. What school sends invitations to random people? That’s not normal. Most schools want the pick of the litter. Magic exists. Divination is a thing. Ergo, our arrival was not an accident.”

The pieces fit. Of the thirty students, twenty-nine were girls. Sylvia’s classmates adapted too quick, almost as though they didn’t want to go home. The obvious conclusion was that the students had been filtered.

But not perfectly filtered. Professor Myers made clear that Sylvia wasn’t the first ‘irregular’ to grace the Academy.

“Once is happenstance. Twice is coincidence. Three-times is enemy action,” Riley spelled out, accepting the argument. “Thinking back, the timing was a little too convenient.”

Sylvia gave the blonde a sidelong look. Too convenient? No shit. Receiving an invitation right after murdering her ex wasn’t much different than the Academy providing a getaway driver.

“Three times?” Emily questioned. The charming brunette leaned in, peering at her silver haired companion suspiciously. “I see. Becoming a witch is Sylvia’s secret desire.”

Sylvia choked. Wait! Wait! Where the hell did that conclusion come from? That’s not what Sylvia had been implying at all. Having reasons was not the same as wanting to be girl! It was the System’s fault! It had nothing to do with her!

The true horror was that Sylvia didn’t dare speak the truth out loud.

Riley snickered. “You know, Emily has a point.”

“It’s destiny!” Emily declared, eyes shining. “Sylvia was destined to become a magical princess.”

Sylvia glared at the blonde. Traitor.

“Logically, that would apply to Riley too,” Sylvia ruthlessly enticed.

Riley scowled. He he he. Eat mutually assured destruction.

Emily’s eyes were filled with stars. “We’ll become magical girls together!”

Thankfully, the teacher arrived before Riley and Sylvia could drag themselves deeper into the abyss.

Abigail Wright was the single most normal looking starlight witch Sylvia had ever seen. When it came to color, Sylvia’s classmates straddled the rainbow. There were classical redheads, blondes, and brunettes. Almost ordinary, if the reds weren’t so bright and the browns not so vivid. Then there were the other colors. Greens, blues, oranges, and violets. Bright and dark. Sharp and pastel.

And that wasn’t all.

Starlight witches were universally pretty. Eyes like jewels. Smooth complexions. Silky legs. Hips. Breasts. None Sylvia had seen matched Ingrid’s alluring curves nor Kyna’s pure, childish innocence. Instead, each witch was an adorable kid-sister. Tiny. Petite. Leaving the house for the first time to attend college.

As a former man, Sylvia very much approved of this delectable buffet.

Even as her soul curdled when she recognized she was the same.

Professor Wright, in contrast, was extraordinarily ordinary. Brown hair and light brown eyes. Her irises were, perhaps, a touch too bright but not remarkably so. Olive skin, seeming browned by the sun, yet not appearing spectacular. Even Abigail’s height befit Earth standards. The professor was a touch taller than Natalie Ward.

Professor’s Wright style matched her looks. Simple. The teacher wore dull blue robes embroidered with yellow thread. The hem ended a hand above the ground. Her fashion sense was a far cry from Glenda Fischer’s flashy cosplay and Allison Myers sexy secretary.

Hmm, Allison. Allison glaring at her through horn rimmed glasses. Sylvia flushed. Fantasy fluttered in her thoughts. After a week as a girl, the formerly alien parts reacting ruined her delusion no longer.

Bang!

She jumped. Dream shattered, she looked up to see Professor Wright had dropped a boulder onto the podium. Yes. A boulder. A common, dark gray rock whose breadth was just short of fifty centimeters.

Professor Wright slapped a hand atop the heavy stone. The brown eyed teacher swept the room with a broad grin, indulging in the dull confusion reflected.

Sylvia waited for an explanation. Professor Wright didn’t seem keen to provide one.

“Last week we discussed phantasmal objects,” Abigail Wright said, her voice filling the room. “Today, we’re going to build on that knowledge. But first, a quick quiz. Who here can tell me what would happen if I broke this big boy in half?”

Lucy White, a witch with a black ponytail and lavender highlights, raised a hand. Professor Wright gestured.

“It’ll disintegrate,” Lucy said with a smooth, mellow voice.

Where do objects come from? How does debt work? What happens when you break the law? How do we come back from the dead? Field Studies answered all those questions and more. It was, in short, demonic common sense with a theoretical twist.

It was a class that was sorely needed. Professor Wright had demonstrated this in the simplest way. She’d taken a branch then snapped it in half. Then, while the class looked on in a daze, she had asked: ‘how do you think those chairs you’re sitting on were made?’

And that’s when reality struck deep. This wasn’t Earth. Physics didn’t apply. A snapped branch didn’t transform into two smaller branches. It disintegrated. Just like the dead wolves and dead witches killed during Armed Combat.

So, how indeed, were wooden chairs made? Sadly, the answer to that question would wait until the second half of the year when the class had the necessary skills to experience the process rather than hear about it.

“Looks like someone was paying attention,” Abigail answered. “But you’d be wrong.

“Phantasmal objects, as we discussed last week, consist of two parts: essence and crust. Essence holds the nether code which defines the shape and characteristics of the object. Crust, on the other hand, is an organized ether structure projected by that essence. Thus, the word ‘phantasm’.

“When the crust is broken, the essence leaks out. This, in turn, causes the remaining crust to collapse in a vicious cycle. This is a process known as dissolution. But there is one big difference between this rock and the tree branch I broke last week. Can anyone guess what it is?”

Riley’s nose scrunched. “It’s bigger,” she guessed haphazardly.

“Ha ha, that’s a good guess,” Professor Wright laughed. “And the right one. But that answer is incomplete. This rock is only ‘bigger’ in the sense that it has more essence. Because it has more essence, if I broke it in half the damaged crust would stabilize before all of it could escape. That means one rock becomes too smaller rocks.”

Ah. So, it wasn’t that everything dissolves after being broken. Wait. That should’ve been obvious at the start. Sylvia had lost half her hit points in Armed Combat, and she was still walking and talking. Then, was that what her hit points actually measured? The amount of essence she could lose before dissolving into ether?

Interesting.

“Now let’s get fancy,” Professor Wright continued. “If you wanted this boulder to dissolve, how would you make that happen?”

““Use mana.””

This time the class spoke as one. Everyone who had survived the fight with the beryl blood wolves knew how to make something die. And all the witches that died had learned the truth the day after.

“That’s right. Blast it with energy. Mana works. So does ki. The shock of foreign energy fractures the underlying essence leading to destruction. The opposite is also true. If you want to stab someone and leave them alive, don’t put energy into it. Demons are pretty tough. You could even say that we’re resistant to non-magical weapons.”

Professor Wright grinned at her low-key joke. Facepalming, Sylvia groaned. Abigail was such a nerd.

“Am I missing something?” Riley whispered, seeing her companion’s reaction.

Sylvia didn’t deign that with a reply.

“Okay. Enough review,” Professor Wright continued. “I want to talk about another concept with which you’re familiar. Mass. In physics, we define mass as a quantitative measure of inertia. However, most of us think of mass in terms of weight. If you guys were to guess, how much would you say this boulder weighs?”

A shy hand rose in the back. “A hundred pounds?”

“Given how I strained my back picking it up, that sounds about right,” Abigail laughed. “Okay, now let’s make this tricky.”

Professor Wright grabbed the gray boulder with both hands then pushed. The rock’s surface sank in as though made from wet clay. Shifting her hands, Abigail pressed in again and again, shaping the rock with her palms. Sylvia could see the energy flowing through the professor’s arms as she worked the rock, shrinking it down smaller and smaller until it fit neatly into a palm.

Then the teacher picked it up.

“So, how heavy do you think this is?” Professor Wright said, tossing the rock into the air before catching it with the same hand.

No one answered.

“Looks like you all smartened up. The material world has conservation of mass. In the netherworld there is no such law. In fact, with the right art or magic, mass can be made quite subjective. So the question becomes, how do we measure an object’s mass? And the answer to that question is droms.”

Professor Wright walked to the back of the room and started writing on the board using a piece of chalk.

“A drom is a measure of etheric mass. Specifically, it corresponds to the amount of essence in an object. That’s because, during shaping, essence is neither created nor destroyed. The original boulder you saw, it massed five droms. The smaller rock now sitting on my podium, roughly five droms.”

A spark of light seemed to glimmer in Professor Wright’s otherwise ordinary brown eyes. She quirked a sly smile.

“Now, who can guess why I said roughly?”

“Because you didn’t actually measure it.” Heather’s tone was disdainful.

Professor Wright didn’t seem bothered. “True. But that’s not the main reason. Anyone else have a guess?”

This time Sylvia hesitantly raised a hand.

“Because some essence leaked when you were shaping the stone.”

“Correct,” Abigail confirmed. “Etheric mass is not material mass. Essence can be created and destroyed. Essence disperses into ether and ether condenses into essence. Both of these processes occur naturally in the planes according to the local world logic. A skilled alchemist can even forge essence straight from the ether.

“But we still measure in droms for good reason. That’s because the amount of essence in an object is the truest representation of its size and scale. A boulder as large as you are tall might consist of a single drom. A powerful ring that can ‘in darkness bind them’ –”

Several girls giggled, catching the professor’s nerdy joke.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“– might mass as much as two-or-three hundred droms,” Professor Wright finished with a wink. “Okay. Enough of the boring stuff. Field Studies is a practical class so let’s get practical.”

Out of thin air, Professor Wright whipped out a giant sack woven from thick, silver thread. Grinning, she held the top at the height of her waist while the rest sank down until it touched the classroom floor. The bulging bottom made clear that there were a heap of objects still inside.

“Ladies, meet your new best friend, the space bag.” Professor Wright lifted a pile of folded, silver cloth from out of her sack. “Now line up I’ll start handing them out. Don’t worry, they’re free.”

At the teacher’s encouragement, the class assembled. Each girl grabbed a silvery bag as they passed. Against Sylvia’s expectation, the bag was thick and heavy. The surface was stiff, akin to steel wool. Yet, the material itself remained strangely elastic.

“Space bags are made of soul-space silver,” Professor Wright lectured. “Soul-space silver is a rare material that has the property of being able to define ‘space’ even while inside the soul. And the carrying capacity of the soul is measured in….”

Abigail paused, waiting for the obvious answer.

““Droms,”” Sylvia muttered, in tandem with several other girls.

Riley rolled her eyes. “Does she think we’re six?” the blonde muttered, retaking her seat.

Sylvia snorted. Emily made an adorably angry noise while giving Riley the evil eye.

The class carried on.

-oOo-

By the Academy’s reckoning, it was late afternoon.

Not that there were afternoons here in the Timeless Beryl Wilderness.

As it was want, the sun sat on the horizon basking the world in eternal morn. The cheerful light poured in through the windows of Sylvia’s dorm. The silver haired girl closed the shutters, drenching the inner space with dark. A faint glow passed through the slats, dimmed and hued until it resembled moonlight.

It was the only way, here at the Academy, that Sylvia could experience something akin to night. And for that she was grateful.

Dong. Dong. Dong. Dong. A distant bell tolled, the belfry of the Academic Building ringing out to let the students know the time. Four o’clock. Six more hours until curfew forced the first and third year students back into their dorm. As for the juniors in their second or fourth year, they didn’t exist.

This was a free period. The Academy’s sole mandate was that at least an hour be spent on cultivation. The rest could be used however one wished. The diligent would study. The careless would indulge in recreational sport. Emily was the former. Riley the latter.

As for Sylvia? If this was Earth she’d blow it all off playing video games. Here in Hell, she lacked a computer. So she spent most of her time reading.

Sylvia flopped onto her bed. Her cute, silvery twin tails spilling down around her. She could feel the two bows pressing annoyingly against her skull.

“I hate charm club,” Sylvia grumbled to herself.

Today, Kyna spent an entire hour blabbering about hairstyles. The worst part was that Sylvia had no choice but to pay attention, because the topic was directed at her. If the club had let out any later, Sylvia feared she would’ve gone mad.

“Why couldn’t I have joined the hunters club or the library club instead?” Sylvia continued to whine.

Of course, Sylvia knew the answer to that question. Because she was man and therefore, the Academy felt extra effort must be expended to turn her into a lady.

“Better be worth it,” Sylvia mumbled to herself. She raised a hand toward the ceiling before commanding, “Inventory: Blank Skill Book.”

The air shimmered. A book appeared, floating within arms reach. It was blue and transparent, the polygons apparent from the wire frame and the vertices. The object was neither material nor ethereal. It had no mass and no essence. The book’s existence, as far as Sylvia could tell, was purely virtual. A construct that dwelled only in her mind.

Sylvia tapped it with a lazy finger. The blue surface rippled. Ding!

System Item: Blank Skill Book

Using a skill book grants 1000 hours of training in the designated subject. A Blank Skill Book can be transformed into any skill book by providing a known subject of study. Skill books cannot be transferred or sold. Consuming a skill book takes 1 hour during which the User will be rendered unconscious.

Use Item / Cancel

And there it was. The result of Sylvia’s suffering. The reason she had retired to her dorm early. Before using the item Sylvia scanned the room one last time.

The Academy dorms were simple. Three beds set against a wall, a window between each. At the foot of each bed was a chest and to the right a nightstand. On the opposite side of the room the Academy provided additional shelving. A few textbooks stood on different levels, representing tomorrow’s classes. Sylvia planned to shove them into her space bag later.

All of this was very normal.

What stood out was what the dorm lacked.

No bathroom. Demons didn’t shit, piss, or sweat. Blood, dirt, and grime evaporated like water shed by a character in a video game. The common, daily cleansing that was part of Eric’s life had nothing to do with Sylvia. In the morning when she woke up, her hair would spill down all glossy without a single tangle. Her breath was always fresh. Her teeth, pearly white without scrubbing.

After a week without bathing, even Sylvia felt like a slob. Riley complained about how dirty she felt morning and night.

Finally, Sylvia’s eyes fell on the door. Shut and magically locked. Her roommates could open it, of course. There was nothing Sylvia could do about that. Hopefully, if any of them showed up, they’d assume she was taking a nap.

“Use Item.”

Normally, Sylvia commanded the System with her mind. Today, she spoke aloud. This bit a theater was Sylvia’s way to celebrate.

Bzzt!

Error: A skill topic must be provided when using this item.

Right. Right. She’d gotten ahead of herself.

“Use Item: Combat Magic.”

Querying Database…

Querying Database…

… Associated information found.

Simulating Scenario…

… Simulation complete.

The event log started to scroll. After a few seconds, the System unleashed its illusionary ding before popping up a new window.

Create Item: Magical Combat I [Poor]?

Upon confirming the creation of this item, the skill book Magical Combat I will be used. Consuming a skill book takes 1 hour, during which the User will be rendered unconscious.

Warning: You have 4 creation attempts left.

Confirm / Cancel

The good news? Sylvia had a chance to see the quality of the skill book she had created. The bad news? Magical combat was quite obviously disdained by the System.

“But why poor?” Sylvia mused, tapping the Cancel button. “Use Item: Cultivation.”

Poor again? Sylvia frowned.

“Use Item: Spear techniques.”

Create Item: Spear Techniques I [Mediocre]?

Upon confirming the creation of this item, the skill book Spear Techniques I will be used. Consuming a skill book takes 1 hour, during which the User will be rendered unconscious.

Warning: You have 2 creation attempts left.

Confirm / Cancel

Shit.

If the next book didn’t pan out, she’d be between a rock and a hard place. Choose the skill she wanted and take the poor, or bet on a fifth attempt. There had to be some logic behind the System’s assignment. What was it?

Wait.

“Ugh.” Groaning, Sylvia facepalmed. “I’m an idiot.”

The event log told her straight up. Querying database.

“‘Providing a known subject of study’, means known to the System,” Sylvia realized.

The quality of the book, Sylvia guessed, depended on what the System knew. And where did that knowledge come from? Sylvia had an ugly suspicion.

With an unhappy expression, Sylvia named a book she’d come to hate.

“Cancel. Use Item: Lesser Codex.”

Ding.

Create Item: Lesser Codex [Excellent]?

Upon confirming the creation of this item, the skill book Lesser Codex will be used. Consuming a skill book takes 1 hour, during which the User will be rendered unconscious.

Warning: You have 1 creation attempt left.

Confirm / Cancel

“You’re a piece of shit, you know that.” Sylvia grumbled, stretching the window angrily. “A proper System is omniscient and omnipotent. Don’t you have any pride? Why are you relying on your user to teach you everything?”

Fuck. Wizard Means Wise I. What bullshit. The quest wasn’t for her. It was for the System. Sylvia was just a tool the System was using to fill its damn database.

Sylvia twisted the window into a knot before letting it spring back into form. With a sigh, she fell back onto her pillow. What should she do? Well. There was only one choice, bite the bullet and find out what a skill book was worth.

But first.

“Cancel. Use Item: Lesser Codex.”

Create Item: Lesser Codex [Excellent]?

Upon confirming the creation of this item, the skill book Lesser Codex will be used. Consuming a skill book takes 1 hour, during which the User will be rendered unconscious.

Confirm / Store

Ah. So, after running out of attempts, Sylvia could store the resulting skill book. She didn’t actually have to use the book right after creating it. That was useful to know.

“You better be worth it,” Sylvia threatened. The blue window remained undaunted, as always. “If I just end up reading the Lesser Codex again, I’m going to be pissed.”

Then she hit the button.

Confirm.

Time stopped.

Sylvia was in an empty room. A lonely desk stood in front of her. On it rested a copy of The Lesser Codex, Edition XCIII.

Sylvia opened the book.

Then she read.

Page by page. Chapter by chapter. Hour after hour. Front to back. No impatience. No boredom. She was tireless and attentive. Diligent in every step. Not a person. A machine lacking all emotion. She never skipped a line. She never missed a word. Her focus was absolute.

The last page turned. The book closed. Undaunted, Sylvia flipped it over and read it again.

And again.

And again.

Then the process changed. After reading a rune and studying its shape and description, Sylvia stopped. Instead of flipping the page, she picked up a stencil. With it, she carved the rune into the air. A quarter of the way through, the rod buzzed in her hand. The glowing shape highlighted red, showing where her motion was wrong.

So she tried it again. And again. And again. And again until the rune was drawn correctly ten times in a row.

The page turned. The action repeated. Two runes. Thirty runes. Four-hundred runes. Finally, all five hundred were perfectly drawn.

Without an ounce of hesitation, Sylvia returned to the beginning.

Like that, three weeks passed. Never once did she sleep. Never once did her mana reach its limit. She kept pressing forward, unstoppable.

The scene changed. The book was closed. Instead, a rune appeared in midair. Sylvia studied it. Then she named it. Then she carved it. Whenever she made a mistake, the book would pop open and she would study the contents anew.

The fourth week passed. The difficulty increased. Now she had to draw the rune in her mind before releasing it into the world by speaking its name. The fifth week passed. Now she identified runes by name, trait, or element only. Sometimes entire strings of runes were presented and she was made to read their meaning.

As the sixth week closed, one thousand hours came to an end.

The world broke.

Sylvia jolted to awareness.

Her head span. Information pounded at her skull like a jackhammer. Memories, fake yet real. Faded, yet clear. The events hung in her head, stale, empty, and sterile without a single emotion attached. It was as though she were remembering a boring movie she’d watched five hundred times ten years ago.

“What the hell was that?”

This wasn’t what Sylvia expected.

Based on her genre savvy, Sylvia had assumed a skill book would directly grant a skill. That ‘Lesser Codex, lv X’ would appear magically on her status screen. Then she would just know.

Instead….

Instead, the System had spawned an emotionless copy of Sylvia then set the clone to practice the skill for a literal one thousand hours. Then it had taken her forked clone’s memories and jammed them directly into her brain.

“Seriously, what the hell,” Sylvia cursed, summarizing her feelings.

Clutching her head, Sylvia waited for the pounding to die down. As the headache faded, her anger did too.

A thousand hours.

What was a thousand hours? The average American, working a full-time job, clocked two-thousand hours of labor in a year. A year at the Academy similarly consisted of around two-thousand hours of classes, clubs included. On the surface, a thousand hours was worth half a year of instruction.

But Sylvia would be an utter fool to think that.

Sylvia didn’t so much read The Lesser Codex as she skimmed it. The textbook was pure tedium. It was like reading a dictionary. When under the power of the System, Sylvia’s clone had not only read the book. She’d done so attentively.

Then there were the advantages of feedback. When tracing the runes, Sylvia felt it when she got them wrong. How many hours would it take to achieve the same with self study? Actually, could she even self study to that level? Tracing a rune consumed mana. Not much, but Sylvia wasn’t exactly brimming with it.

And then there were the last few weeks in the simulation where the book provided an environment little different than a guided lesson plan.

A blank skill book offered a thousand hours in the literal sense. But in the objective sense, each of those hours were worth two to five times what Sylvia could achieve on her own.

“This item is pure bullshit,” Sylvia realized.

Not the bad kind of the bullshit. The good kind. Sylvia looked at her System window with a touch of excitement and a little fear.

Nothing is ever free. So, what did the System want from her? Sylvia never considered it when the System was weak and pathetic. But a System that could offer a gift as transformative as a skill book. That was dangerous.

“I have to test it,” Sylvia said firmly.

Sitting up, the silver haired witch closed her eyes. In her mind, a line was drawn. A loop crossing over itself four times forming a relatively simple knot. This was the first rune Sylvia learned. A rune whose name, description, and characteristics she knew by heart.

“Voya.”

The air stirred. A book rattled on the far shelf then flopped over with a thud. Sylvia trembled. An incantation. The first step to true magic. Hurriedly, the silver haired girl raised a hand then scribbled a few runes into the air.

“It’s real,” she breathed.

A giddy feeling fluttered inside of her. If she had a heart instead of a core, it would’ve been pounding wild in her chest. She had it. She finally had it. A path to strength. A means to stand tall.

As for what the System wanted? Sylvia would worry about it later. Instead, she brought up her quest.

New Quest: Wizard Means Wise II

Every mage is a scholar. Only through study and effort can a mage reach the pinnacle of magecraft. Read books. Attend lessons. Learn secrets. Seek all forms of knowledge and carve a path for all those who follow behind you.

Quest Reward:

* 1x Blank Skill Book

* Wizard Means Wise III

Objectives:

[ ] Obtained knowledge: 2 / 200 pts

The second part of the quest chain was almost identical to the first. The only difference was the number in the name and how many points she needed to complete it.

“I have to read more books,” Sylvia decided firmly. A sick feeling formed in her gut. “A lot more books.”

Because if Wizard Means Wise III worked like the first two parts, the challenge was only going to increase with each iteration.

But no matter how many iterations there were, Sylvia had to complete them all.

Because this was Hell and a thousand hours of practice, no matter how good, was nothing in front of a thousand-year-old demon.

-oOo-

Term: Witch

A common epithet used to describe knowledgeable, female spell casters of the hecates lineage. In the netherworld, most witches view the term in an honorable light. This is particularly true in Hell and the Fey Federation.

The term sometimes finds broader use, being applied to female spell casters of all kinds. However, using ‘witch’ in this manner is sure to draw sharp reproach from those of the hecates lineage who view the term as exclusive.

As men are rarely born from the hecates lineage, it remains disputed whether the title of witch should be applied to them. Some witches believe that all dedicated magic users of their lineage are witches. Others insist that men be named warlocks instead.

In most material worlds, however, the word witch remains a denigrating insult.

Lineage: Hecates

The lineage originating from the titan, Hecate. The hecates lineage is known first and foremost for its strong affinity for magic and magecraft. However, it is also well known for producing very human looking and almost always female demons.

Hecates has three major genera: xemyalistra, magissa, and hexe. These branches correspond to the three faces of Hecate, the mother, the maiden, and the crone. Of these the hexe and magissa have the greatest tendency toward magecraft. Xemyalistra possess a more balanced capability between natural magic and learned magic.

Despite common belief, men can be born from the hecates lineage. The incubus bloodline being the most prominent example. However, under ordinary circumstances male births are unheard of. In nearly all bloodlines men only appear as the direct descendants of an Awakened witch whose soul was originally male. The life experiences of these men vary wildly. Some face great discrimination. Others find themselves surrounded by curious women eager to taste those of their own tribe.

Since the Ancient Era, the Supreme Coven of the Nether has overseen lineage affairs for the hecates. By convention, this coven consists of four members from each branch plus a single, elected Presiding Witch. Edicts issued by the Supreme Coven are passed through a series of subordinate covens and are thus, loosely enforced. However, major breaches can still draw ire even in modern times.

To this day, hexe and magissa most commonly organize themselves into covens, typically consisting of no more than two layers of circles. The xemyalistra, being the black sheep of the lineage, instead tend to organize themselves into bloodline clans. Genera do not commonly mix with other genera, with the hexe often disparaging the others as ‘sluts and whores’. This has generated equal spite from the magissa who commonly retort hexe are ‘disgusting old hags’.