While alchemy, elementism, and French all continued to be struggles for me academically, I developed a fondness for Demonology. Professor Neuhaus was an enigmatic and bizarre man, but overall, he wasn't a terrible teacher.
His lessons were a bit too hands on for my taste at times though.
The imp shrieked, and it pounded little fists on the walls of the glass orb it was trapped in.
"Imps are often regarded as the lowest form of hellspawn," Professor Neuhaus said and wrote on the chalkboard. "This is, however, slightly incorrect in two regards. First, there have been several recorded subspecies of imp that are best categorized as faerie, not hellspawn, and second, demon larva are the lowest form of hell-based lifeform."
He tapped the board after completing a diagram and the Imp stopped screaming, frozen like it was trapped in amber. "But as this is demonology, and not fey studies which some of you may choose to pursue starting next semester, the first point is moot," Neuhaus said. "I would like you all to remember the second, as it is essential information for all wizards to remember, regardless of what discipline they ultimately specialize in. The hierarchy of Infernal entities is a critical part of the Narrative they ascribe to, and can be used to the benefit or detriment of any wizard who encounters them."
He tapped the glass ball, and the imp shrieked again. I flinched at the noise, leaving a jagged mark in my notes as my pen tore into the page and blotting out a portion of the notes I had taken so far.
I cursed myself. I'd have to ask Iroha to share her notes with me again at the library later.
It was reassuring to not be the only student disquieted by the imp Professor Neuhaus was showing off. Most of the class had their faces squarely turned to their own notes, unable to look at the little demon.
Iroha was one of the few who actually watched Professor Neuhaus as he poked and prodded the demon's prison as he lectured on.
"Now, can anyone tell me Faust's four essential basics of forming a contract with a demon?"
Iroha glanced around briefly before raising her hand. She didn't seem to mind answering questions in class per se, but only if no one else was forthcoming. There was a pause as Professor Neuhaus seemed to take another moment to look around the room again, like he was still searching for someone to call on. Then he sighed.
Professor Neuhaus nodded at Iroha. "Miss Tsuchimikado."
Iroha stood up. "The four Faustian basics of demonic contracts are as follows:" she recited. "First, a magician must clearly define what they desire. Second, a magician must clearly state what they are willing to pay. Third, a magician must be willing to leave room for negotiation and compromise. Finally, a magician must always be willing to walk away before they sign the contract."
Professor Neuhaus nodded in approval.
"Excellent, now can anyone tell me the proper magical formula one needs to draw in order to indicate to a demon that you are willing to begin negotiations for a contract?"
After demonology ended, I waited for Iroha to walk to lunch with. Professor Neuhaus had asked for her to stay behind and talk to him after class, so I stood outside the door while they talked. I couldn't help but eavesdrop while I waited.
"You wanted to speak with me, professor?" Iroha said.
"Yes, well," Professor Neuhaus sounded a bit distracted, like he was trying to select his words carefully. "Miss Tsuchimikado, you certainly have a knack for this subject, don't you?"
"Yes sir," Iroha said. "I find my studies here rather enjoyable. More so than I could have predicted."
"Ah," Professor Neuhaus said, and then there was a moment of silence.
"So you see, that's actually what I wanted to talk to you about," Professor Neuhaus said. "I am a bit worried your performance in class is a bit... disheartening to the other students."
"Disheartening?"
"Yes, well," Professor Neuhaus said. "I've received a few complaints that students are reluctant to speak up in class because they feel as though you must already know the answers. That and the fact that you must have only recently begun learning the subject compared to them—"
"I received some cursory teaching in demonology in my youth," Iroha said stiffly.
"Yes, but in the traditions of Shang," Professor Neuhaus said. "Can you see how it might be a bit intimidating for some of our students, who've grown up in the empire, to come to school and attend class with a foreign girl who is already excelling in the magical traditions they've spent their entire lives trying to learn?"
Iroha said nothing to that.
"All I am asking is that you speak less in class," Professor Neuhaus said. "Give others a bit of initiative to answer questions."
I didn't hear Iroha respond, but she walked out of the classroom with a blank expression on her face, and blew right past me. I followed behind her, taking great steps to keep up.
The two of us walked for a time, moving through the winding school halls on our way to the cafeteria. I wasn't sure what to say to her for the longest time before I finally settled.
"Are you okay?" I asked softly.
Iroha said nothing for a while and continued walking through the halls. I wondered if she hadn't heard me and I was considering asking again, louder this time, but I couldn't find the words.
Something sunk in my chest. "Professor Neuhaus is a stuck-up bastard," I finally managed.
Iroha said nothing to that and stayed silent throughout lunch.
***
Iroha and Sylas sparred for the first time that afternoon. It'd taken them a while to find "all the proper equipment" which turned out to be a pair of wooden swords and a place where no one would mind people swinging swords around. Frankly, the entire practice of swordplay seemed a bit much in my humble opinion. Then again, it wasn't one of the plethora of useless things Lord Woodman had deemed "necessary for a noble to know" and thus something I'd never been forced to learn.
They'd both changed out of the Angitia standard uniform for the excursion, and into skin tight black and red uniforms that we'd wear later in the year when we'd dive into the labyrinth for practical exams and lessons. The new ensembles included a pair of black trousers, red shirts cut off at the shoulders, and a pair of black gloves.
I had a sort of vague notion that we probably shouldn't use them yet, but I didn't actually care enough to say anything. I was also admittedly curious to see what Iroha and Sylas were so excited about. The two of them had been all but prancing around in anticipation the past week, getting every odd and end together so they could swing what were essentially large sticks at each other's heads.
Sylas swung his wooden sword a few times, switching it from hand to hand and frowning at it. Iroha barely even looked at hers. Her eyes seemed to be off in the distance, like she was thinking about something very hard.
"How does this work, exactly?" Mason asked. He, Rosamund, and I sat off to one side of the clearing we'd found between the school and the woods. Rosamund had brought a blanket and a picnic basket she'd packed with dainty little ham and cheese sandwiches. I tried to remove the ham from the first one I took discreetly, but stopped when I noticed her staring at me in confusion.
So I smiled and popped the entire thing in my mouth, almost immediately greeted by the sensation of being a pig having its throat slit by a skinny null boy in a butcher's shop.
"Delicious," I choked out to Rosamund, who watched me through the entire delightful process with a furrow in her brow.
"I am glad you like it," she said cooly.
Mason, for his part, actually seemed to enjoy himself immensely, scarfing down several of the wretched finger sandwiches before remembering to dab at his lips with a blue handkerchief he produced from a pocket. Mason gave Rosamund a white-toothed grin that was enough to get her to briefly stop staring at me and blush delicately.
I supposed that whatever overtures Rosamund had made to Mason thus far had not been unreciprocated.
"Do you suppose we yell 'go!' or something to them?" Mason asked, vaguely gesturing in the direction of Iroha and Sylas. "I've never practiced with swords myself. Mama always said I'd cut my own head off by mistake, but I was always under the impression there was some sort of formal starting ritual? Say Sylas!" Mason called out loudly. "Do we need to do anything before you start? Wave flags or something?"
I winced.
Mason, I decided, would not have lasted a day in Lord Woodman's "how to be a nobleman" lessons. Which was odd, because wasn't Mason a noble? I frowned. Was it possible that he was an Irregular like me? Someone trying to fake being a nobleman and a "real mage" as part of some larger piece of intrigue.
Then Mason got up on his feet and yelled even louder, "SYLAS IS THERE ANYTHING YOU NEED US TO DO SO YOU CAN START?" And I dismissed the idea of Mason also being an Irregular.
If nulls had raised Mason and he was trying to hide it, he'd be much more cautious about drawing attention to himself. It was one reason I didn't want people to know I was a necromancer.
Well, that and I didn't particularly like how most people said the word "Necromancer" in the same way that many also said "Meths Drinker." In the sense that both were regarded as extremely distasteful, often a sign of mental illness, and something that we really ought to have stronger laws around. Still didn't know why that was the case, but I supposed that at the end of the day, it really shouldn't matter that much.
Sylas and Iroha turned as one to stare at Mason.
"A FLAG!" Mason yelled. "DO YOU NEED ME TO GET A FLAG?"
I watched Rosamund out of the corner of my eye, to see if she was also looking at Mason as opposed to watching me as I picked apart my second sandwich to remove the meat.
"Enjoying your sandwich, Theo?" Rosamund said. "I worked very hard on them this morning. One of the maids back home taught me when I was small, and I do think I've gotten rather good at making up a picnic basket."
"Yep," I said, and popped another full ham and cheese finger sandwich in my mouth and once again experienced my necromancy delighting me with the exact knowledge of how the swine had perished. A null woman with grey hair had straddled the poor thing before repeatedly driving a blunt knife into its neck.
"Delicious," I choked out, trying to keep myself from shuddering.
"Mm," Rosamund said.
Sylas and Iroha continued to stare at Mason as he mimed waving a flag in the air. I suppose I should have been grateful that there didn't seem to be anyone else around to see the display.
"No Mason," Sylas called out. "It's fine."
Sylas turned to Iroha. "How about we start at the count of three? That work for you?"
I didn't catch what Iroha said, as I was too busy trying to flush the remnants of the sandwich down my throat with some water. Occasionally, that helped.
Soon enough, though, Sylas counted off and shifted onto the balls of his feet like a cat about to spring on a mouse.
"Three," Sylas said.
Iroha didn't seem to move to readiness, standing perfectly still with a far off look in her eyes.
"Two," Sylas pulled his sword back slightly behind himself, while Iroha continued to view that far off place.
"One."
No sooner had Sylas said it than he was in motion, hurtling toward Iroha like a comet, his wooden sword trailing off to the side in a blur. Sylas's practice blade struck upward in an arc toward Iroha's face, but instead of hitting her, Iroha made the slightest jerk of her head, pulling her face mere centimeters away from where the practice sword would have hit her.
She then struck out with her hand, punching Sylas directly in the stomach before coming down with her blade on Sylas's head. A strike that Sylas dodged by ducking down and catching Iroha's sword with his own.
Even from my vantage on the picnic blanket some twenty odd feet away, I could see Sylas's wide grin, a brilliant white crescent that practically split his face in two with feral delight. Iroha's own expression hadn't changed an iota in comparison, her continuing to stare out with a blank detachment, like the entire sparring match was happening to someone else.
What followed was a series of hits, blows and blocks I could barely follow with my untrained eye. Sylas's smile grew wider and wider, and Iroha's own eyebrows slowly knit together in concentration like she was finally paying attention, like the fight was becoming serious.
So engrossing was the fight that Rosamund didn't seem to notice when I finally removed the ham from a finger sandwich and threw it behind us into a nearby bush, before popping the remaining bread in cheese into my mouth in satisfaction.
Iroha lagged a bit as Sylas's strikes became faster and faster, swinging with a sort of erratic frenzy. I didn't like how he looked. There was something almost inhuman about the way he moved. The way he—
Sylas brought his sword down on Iroha's again and there was a distinctive cracking. Iroha was forced to her knees, having once again parried the blow, but looking up at Sylas preparing for another downward strike on her.
The air momentarily fizzled with mana, the slightest hints of a spell coming up around the two of them.
That was enough for Mason, who stood up again and cupped around his mouth. "COME ON NOW!" Mason hollered. "WE SAID NO SPELLS RIGHT? YOU TWO WANTED JUST SWORDS."
"As boring as that is," Rosamund muttered, having apparently forgotten how enamored she'd been by the display a moment prior.
Sylas paused, his sword lifted in midair above Iroha, and a confused creased on his brow.
Iroha took that instant of confusion to strike, knocking Sylas's legs out from under him with a well-placed kick and was on top of him in an instant with the blade of her wooden sword on Sylas's throat.
"I think that's a match?" Mason murmured. "IS THAT MATCH?"
Iroha got off Sylas, but hesitated before offering him a hand up. They were both disheveled and sweaty from the exercise. Sylas's eyes were wide and still wild, and Iroha's hair a tangled black mess.
"Do they go again?" Rosamund asked.
Not sure why I did so, I rose to my feet and walked over to where Sylas and Iroha had concluded their match. I was probably just tired of the dirty looks Rosamund had sent my way while I sat with her and Mason.
Iroha looked at Sylas with a wariness I hadn't seen in her before. She continued to grip her wooden sword in a way that implied she was considering trying to run him through with it.
Sylas, for his part, continued blinking, and had a look on his face one would usually see when someone was trying to suppress a sneeze or stop themselves from vomiting.
"That was amazing," I told them truthfully. "I don't know how either of you could move like that."
The sound of my voice seemed to be enough to bring them both back to reality.
"It is not such a hard thing to learn," Iroha said, relaxing her grip on the sword a bit. "The style of these blades is a bit unlike what I am used to, I'll admit, but much of the fundamentals of sword fighting appear to remain the same."
"Yes," Sylas agreed, closing his eyes for a moment before reopening them. "Thank you, Iroha. It's been a while since I've had the chance to trade blows with someone so talented."
Iroha frowned at Sylas, and he continued.
"If you don't mind though, I think it's best if we leave it there for today?" he asked. "I'm feeling... a bit tired, I think."
Iroha nodded, but continued watching him. "That may be for the best," she agreed.
The three of us walked back to the picnic, where Rosamund and Mason waited. Mason eagerly bombarded Iroha and Sylas with questions about swordsmanship that the two answered a bit tacitly. Not an unusual thing for Iroha, but certainly for Sylas.
I couldn't help but notice how Sylas's hands shook throughout the meal, or when his eyes occasionally took on that same feral cast that they had during his sparring with Iroha.
If I listened closely, casting out my senses as far as I could, I could almost hear the faintest buzz of Narrative coming from Sylas Thorne. I could have asked him about it, but I didn't.
There was something about how the Narrative felt, even the tiniest trickle I could actually sense from Sylas, that felt... wrong.
Primal and sinister.
It was such a strange juxtaposition to the rest of Sylas I almost wasn't sure it actually belonged to him.
I didn't want to think about it, so I just smiled and sat there watching Mason bombard Sylas with questions.
It wasn't any of my business, anyway.