The rest of the week passed quickly, far too quickly for my liking. I spent all my time working, barely pausing to rest between crafting projects, preparations, and the everpresent classwork that just kept piling on each day.
I was incredibly thankful that the ritual with Rea had gone well. Not only had it removed the surprisingly tedious work of caring for the girl out of my day, but her presence freed up far more time than I would have expected. I’d never really thought about it, but those tiny things I just had to do to take care of myself took up a shocking amount of time each week. Now that I had someone else to handle those chores, it made everything else much simpler.
It definitely helped that the girl herself had turned out to be surprisingly weak willed, her mind easily altered by the power of the binding. Several diagnostic spells I’d cast told me that it had taken barely a few hours for the binding’s compulsions to take hold. By the end of the weekend, she was even more subservient and happily catering to my every whim.
The book had said that such a process could take upwards of several months, but that assumed the target was not only much older but also far more experienced. It was designed to turn master craftsmen into loyal workers. Compared to that, the mind of a serving girl with no worldly experience and a decade of training to act subservient and follow orders was nothing.
It was rather terrifying to see the power of binding oaths. It was one thing to read about what they were capable of, and entirely different to experience it first hand. The binding I’d used on Miranda had been pathetically weak, barely able to enforce any mental changes on my classmate. Only the fact that she was technically a ‘magical creature’ and the weeks of torture I’d put her through had allowed the mangled ritual to take hold at all, and it was limited to enforcing direct commands.
Despite my research, I had expected something similar from my second attempt. I’d thought Rea would be more… resilient, fighting the effects and struggling against my control. I’d fully expected that I would have to routinely punish the girl, but that hadn’t happened at all. In fact, it had been just the opposite. The new Rea had dived wholeheartedly into her new role.
Rea loved her new work, she lived to serve and obey. Even when I told her she could have some free time, she would actively choose to kneel by my feet, basking in silence even as I ignored her. The first time I’d decided to use her back as a footrest, she hadn’t been able to stop smiling for the rest of the evening.
At first I’d doubted that her new behavior was, well, ‘real’. I’d half suspected it was some sort of clever act, a means to lull me into complacence so she could slit my throat while I was unaware. I’d spent some time questioning her, the oaths ensuring I could tell that she was telling the truth. Only after that had I finally accepted the truth of her words, and then my own fears had started to set in.
That sort of mental change… it was terrifying. In the span of a week, I had transformed this girl, Naklana, she said her name had been Naklana, into a mockery of who she had once been. She still had the same skills, the same knowledge, the same memories, but it was unquestionable that she was a different person now.
Naklana would have been outraged if her former master had ordered her to serve as a footrest. She might have been a servant, but she was still her own woman with her own rights and beliefs. She obeyed orders and took care of her master’s home, but she was paid a salary and could technically leave at any time if she found a higher paying position.
Rea? Rea lived for the opportunity to obey. No order was too degrading, no task too unpleasant. I fully expected that if asked, she would cheerfully clean my toilet bowl with her tongue, then thank me for the honor. I didn’t plan to make her do something like that, it sounded rather disgusting and unsanitary, but she would do it with a smile on her face if I ordered her too.
Despite the time pressure I was under, my fears did eventually get the best of me and I took a short break from my actual work to look into them. Unfortunately, there was no easy solution to prevent all mental and soul based bindings from affecting a person. There were wards and defenses, but nothing particularly useful. It seemed the old adage I’d learned even as a first year really was all there was to it.
It was simply a matter of strengthening your will and your magic in order to fight off any such attacks. According to popular convention, it was almost impossible to put a mage over the seventh circle under that sort of mind-altering binding without them doing it to themselves. As with so many of my problems, it seemed the only solution was power. Power enough that none would dare even try it, and those that did would break against my strength.
And then, it was Friday, and I had to make a decision. I was not as ready as I would have liked to be. If I had it my way, I wouldn’t have moved until I could absolutely guarantee success, but I was starting to learn that sometimes I had to do things under less than ideal circumstances. Things didn’t always fall into place exactly as I wanted them too, but I had to work past it and make the best of the situation I was in, not the situation I wished for.
If I had learned about the group’s plans a few weeks earlier, I probably would have decided against it. Even if I’d succeeded, I wouldn’t have really known how to take advantage of my success. Now, with Elpha’s book in my hands and still high off my success with Rea? That changed things.
A small part of me still thought I was moving too quickly, discarding too much of the caution that had informed my actions for the last two years. It was a risk, but I decided it would be worth the reward. I might have some money now, more resources than I’d ever seen in my life, but money wasn’t everything. I needed information and I needed help. I’d seen the value of Miranda’s research and Rea’s labor, and I wanted more.
Stepping out of Lectures in Mana Theory, I wished Liam a good weekend and made my choice. It was go-time. For better or worse, I was doing this. I wasn’t afraid. These were second years, talented second years, but still students a year my junior. Perhaps on my own, I wouldn’t have felt completely confident, but I didn’t plan to do this alone. Miranda had helped plan things out, and she would help execute the plan as well. Furthermore, I didn’t plan for this to be much of a fight. It would be an ambush, overwhelming power crushing them before they had a chance to respond.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
The only one of the three I was at all concerned about was the elf, Verdan. Elves were tricky buggers and were annoyingly resistant to most magic. Fortunately, I’d had time to test a large number of spell variants on my little Mistletoe, leaving me far more confident in facing the other elf than I had been when I ambushed Mistletoe.
Even if I was unable to capture her, she would not escape. None of them would. If I couldn’t have them, I couldn’t risk them getting away and planning revenge. One way or another, the trio would be dealt with by the end of the night. A weight lifted off my shoulders as I made my decision. Now that I knew what I would do, it was simply a matter of executing it. Time waited for no one, not even the gods. Indication would only let opportunities slip away. I was Hunter. I had never been one to let my prey escape.
Briella Ongallo, second child of Duke Brin Ongallo, great-granddaughter of her namesake Archmage Aiella Ongallo, fixed her features into a sweet smile even as she seethed internally. The source of her frustrations trailed after her, unaware that Briella had contemplated strangling him a half dozen times since they’d met up earlier that day.
This was supposed to be her big break. She’d finally acquired the materials for an experimental self-enhancement potion, painstakingly purchased and located over the course of a year and a half. The recipe had been a gift from her great-grandmother’s personal grimoire on the day she’d been accepted into Avalon, and she had been dreaming of this moment ever since.
And now? It was all ruined and it was his fault. She knew she shouldn’t blame her half-brother, Cellin was just doing as their father told him too. He was always just doing what father told him too. Still, father was back home, living it up on the family estate, and it was much easier to rage against the injustice right in front of her face.
She wished she could just… ignore father’s demands. It was her potion, her materials, her work that had gone into this. What right did he have to demand that she share the fruits of her labor with her idiot half-brother? Unfortunately, bonds of blood were not so easily broken. Father was the head of the house and thus commanded their family magic. It wasn’t on the level of a soul-bound oath, but he could still compel her to obey, even if he couldn’t make her happy to do it.
At least he wasn’t making her share with one of her true-born brothers. Cellin was a dick, but he wasn’t part of the direct family, so he had even less hope of inheriting then she did. If father had tried to make her strengthen one of them… well, it was a good thing that hadn’t happened. Those two sexist pigs were living on borrowed time. The day she was strong enough to resist the family magic, those two were going to die. She refused to be sidelined, to be passed over as heir for those talentless hacks just because they were born with balls and she wasn’t.
She listened with half an ear as Cayla prattled on about some inane topic or another. The girl was a good and loyal friend, someone she’d known for years even before coming to Avalon, but she just couldn’t care less about what she was saying today. She was just… so angry. With only half a dose for herself, the potion’s effects wouldn’t be nearly as pronounced as they should be. It would still be a qualitative improvement, awakening a portion of the dormant fire-affinity in her blood, but it wouldn’t grant her the innate knowledge of FIRE that she wanted.
On her other side, she could see Verdan watching her face pensively. The elf could likely see through her false smile, she’d always been a rather perspective woman, but she wouldn’t say anything. That was something Briella appreciated about her other friend. Verdan was quiet and contemplative, so very different from Cayla but in a good way.
Though she’d only known the elf for just over a year, she had decided to trust her new friend with this. Taking the potion would knock her out for at least a week, possibly longer, and Verdan knew enough medical magic to watch over her as the potion did its work. If nothing else, Cayla would also be there. She could trust Cayla to have her back, no matter what happened.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Verdan miss a step, eyes widening slightly as her head turned to look over her shoulder. The elf’s limbs blurred suddenly, hands flying to the sheathed knives that hung at the hips of her low-slung leather pants. Briella began to turn as well, suddenly aware that she hadn’t been paying attention to her surroundings, distracted as she was by her anger and the confidence of traveling in a large group.
She never had a chance. ‘Sleep’ a melodious voice commanded, the word rippling through the air and brushing against the corners of her mind. She tried to resist the command, throwing her magic against the subtle spell as it wormed its way into her head. With an effort of will, she shattered the spellwork, the minor changes she’d made to her mind and body over the years allowing her to push through the powerful compulsion.
Her companions weren’t so lucky. Cellin was on the floor, slumped bonelessly against the wall. Cayla had done slightly better, managing to resist the compulsion just long enough to react, but it had been ultimately futile. She too was on the floor, a look of surprised confusion on her face and a protective talisman lying useless a few inches from her hand.
Briella finished her turn just in time to see Verdan’s knives deflect off of a spinning shield of force. She could not make out her attacker, their features hidden behind a shroud of illusion magic that rendered them almost invisible. Gritting her teeth, she dropped her bag and launched a weak bolt of fire at the attacker. Despite the lingering drowsiness, she managed to hit them, but the attack was deflected uselessly off the barrier around them.
She began to shape another spell, a third circle fireball that she could only just manage due to her already impressive fire affinity. Long weeks of practice paid off as the spell matrix formed rapidly before her outstretched hand. She could execute the spell in just under ten seconds, faster than many casters three times her age. Whoever her attacker might be, they couldn’t be more than a third year. Whatever defense they were using, a fireball would be more than enough to deal with it.
Cold steel closed tightly around her neck, and she felt the connection to her magic snap. The spell matrix collapsed in an instant, backlash slamming into her suppressed soul and sweeping through her body. She screamed, the unexpected pain enough to bring her to her knees and drive the air from her lungs.
At the end of the hallway, she could barely make out Verdan frantically dodging as oddly shaped projectiles whizzed through the air around her. A cloud of off-white powder floated through the air, clinging to the elf’s skin wherever she passed through it. Eventually, she misstepped, foot landing awkwardly on a patch of transmuted oil. Two projectiles shot forward and slammed together around her bicep. She stumbled again, and the next set closed around the elf’s neck. This time, when the same voice whispered in her ears once again, she did not resist. Sleep washed over her like a warm blanket and she welcomed the relief.