-oOo-

  Chapter 52

  -oOo-

  “I met Lyam Gris, by the way,” Sylvia chatted.

  Elroy and Sylvia were in the back of a black constable’s carriage. The asteri could hear the occasional th-thup as the wooden wheels passed over the stone slabs that made up the city streets. The soul lamps had been safely stored in a trunk under the werewolf’s seat.

  They’d collected eleven souls in total, seven from the victims and four from the perpetrators. There had been three empty lamps in a different crate. Sylvia had helped herself to one, rousing Elroy’s glower.

  Gavin had put in a good word for her, though.

  “I can only hope he didn’t cause you any trouble,” Elroy rumbled.

  The werewolf sat across from her, his head scraping the carriage’s roof. The constable’s uniform clung tight to Elroy’s body. White fur showed around his face. At this distance, it was easy to see the dark matted fur underneath. Elroy, in Sylvia’s memory, always wore heavy armor. It was strange to see him without it.

  “He tried to kill me then sell my soul to the outsiders,” Sylvia replied, blasé. “Of course, he wasn’t aiming for me in specific. At the time, he thought I was Lady Vallenfelt’s clone.”

  Like the wolf, Sylvia had removed her hat and set it on the bench to her left. The silver moon ornament wobbled with every bump on the road.

  “It’s no surprise he would draw such conclusions,” Elroy rumbled in answer. His golden eyes scrutinized her. “I assume he was dealt with?”

  “I killed him, then shoved him into a lamp,” Sylvia confirmed. “I finally threw him overboard on this trip to Tartarus. Before that, he’d been sitting on a shelf, gathering dust.”

  Gathering dust was a bit generous. Emily had snagged the lamp before she went into seclusion. The little imp wanted to use the ether off gassing from Lyam’s soul to fuel an experimental furnace. In a sense, Lyam Gris was a major contributor to solving the plane’s soul-space silver crisis.

  Sylvia was sure he’d be thrilled…

  … a few decades from now, when he finally washed ashore.

  “I am not displeased with this outcome,” Elroy said with satisfaction. The wolfman ran clawed fingers through the hair beneath his chin. “What of Baron Gris?”

  Sylvia considered for a moment, then told the truth.

  “The werewolves sided with the rebels,” she said. “Our guess was that the Tisa clan forced them into a corner. But I haven’t heard a word from the Timeless Beryl Wilderness since we left.”

  Elroy grunted. “My desertion is a shame that weighs on my soul.”

  Sylvia shook her head. “I’m the one who brought you to Tartarus. And it was Lyam who forced the issue in the first place.”

  “But the responsibility remains mine,” Elroy refuted. “This is the way of wolves. To go against the pack is an affront not so easily forgiven. Until my honor has been cleansed, none will accept me. Lone wolves rarely accomplish anything.”

  Clan politics were something Sylvia would never truly understand.

  “I think you’ll accomplish plenty,” Sylvia asserted. “If I’m not mistaken, you’re on the verge of crossing into the second consolidation. Elroy, you’re an incredibly talented man. There will be plenty of chances to redeem yourself.”

  “That is what I hope,” Elroy agreed. “Though my talent cannot compare to yours.”

  Yeah, well. Nobody’s talent could compare to hers. Sylvia was a freak.

  The witch considered the werewolf for a long moment. When she’d set sail for Tartarus, Sylvia had received a new quest: Seeds of the System. Elroy would make an excellent seed. But now was not the time. Not with Heaven’s eyes on her. And not until she had several weeks to judge the wolf’s character.

  People change.

  Perhaps, though, she’d give a gift when it was time to leave.

  “How did the two of you end up here?” Sylvia questioned.

  “Gavin and I were offered a job shortly after you left,” Elroy answered. “We discussed and decided it better to flee Lord Nychta’s area of influence.”

  Moswen then. Her eyes narrowed. What did it mean that they were in Asmodeus’s domain? Did the archdemon have sympathies for the flame, or did the magister place them here because this was Lady Vallenfelt’s old stomping ground?

  The carriage came to a stop. Bang, bang. A fist hammered sharply on the wall twice.

  “Elroy, get those lamps ready,” Gavin shouted, voice muffled by the walls.

  Sylvia picked up her hat, donning it as she stepped out the carriage door.

  Yvonne Taubert’s shop was on the western side of the city, near the noble district. By appearance, it looked like a three-story house with a small yard. Strange plants grew from a garden up front. This, though, wasn’t what captured Sylvia’s eye.

  Instead, it was the screen of magic separating this place from the world. Realm ether swirled, creating a hidden pocket within Pyrkagiás. Spells of law and fate were layered on top, ensuring no one could enter without being first invited.

  Or having been drawn by the shop’s otherworldly call.

  Interesting.

  Behind her, Elroy unloaded the box while Gavin tied the carriage to a post. With the werewolf and goblin at her side, Sylvia entered.

  Dingaling.

  A little bell rang, announcing their presence. A faint magic ensured the sound would reach the ears of the proprietress.

  Sylvia studied the space.

  The shelves were filled with curiosities. Loose talismans were heaped to one side, the pile scattered. Near them were a series of dolls. The witch poked one out of curiosity. Voodoo? How evil. Wait. Mixed into the group was a blank visage. The two almost identical-looking tools had been left on the same shelf, haphazardly.

  Sylvia pitied anyone who mixed the two up.

  The asteri turned. Within a line of jars, worm-like creatures writhed. A hideous curse. A simple hex was a spell placed on a body, bringing forth bad fortune. In gamer terms, a curse was a status ailment. However, the most powerful curses were more than mere spells. They were living creatures that slithered through the soul.

  To make one, long chains of runes would be incanted. The result was a vile seed. A kind of pseudo phantasm. This seed would then be incubated through special methods. Once grown, the living malice would be ready to claim its victim.

  A curse like that wasn’t so easily escaped. A demon afflicted might suffer horrors for centuries. Maybe even for millennia.

  How delightful. This is how a real witch lived. Sylvia was definitely taking notes!

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  A huge man, eight feet tall and eight hundred pounds, stomped into the room. Thick. Muscled. Hairy. His right arm was twisted, twice as large as his left. With him was brought a winter’s chill. The icy cold was a welcome replacement to the burning furnace called Pyrkagiás.

  “Sir Egushawa,” Elroy greeted with gruff tones and a moderate bow. “We are here to meet your wife.”

  Bright, blue eyes like the frozen wastes gazed at them. Sylvia offered the man a polite curtsy.

  Egushawa was a wendigo. It took a long moment before Sylvia could place the rare bloodline. Even then, it was only with the help of the System’s database pinging in her soul.

  The giant, neanderthal of a man grunted. Then he turned his head and roared at the ceiling. “Yvonne! That damn dog and the goblin are here again.”

  Boom. Boom. Boom.

  So said, Egushawa Taubert stomped right back out of the room. A minute later, an old crone entered through a door. The woman had green hair falling down to her back, the locks filled with dense streaks of gray and black. Her eyes were sharp and deep brown, glinting with a cunning that defied her apparent age.

  For a moment, the hexe’s gaze paused on Sylvia. Then Yvonne looked past and to the guard.

  ““Lady Taubert.”” Three voices greeted her as one. Elroy and Gavin bowed, as was proper. Sylvia offered a full curtsy.

  “Pa! Don’t go bowing and scraping in front of me. If I wanted that, I’d still be a member of the circle,” the witch said, giving a wave of irritation. Despite that, Lady Taubert’s wrinkled face showed her pleasure. “What have you brought for me? It better be good, or I’ll have words with your commander. The Pyrkagiás guard is a useless lot.”

  “Soul lamps, ma’am,” Gavin said. The redcap showed a deadly smile, taking no slight from the insult. “We took them from the culprits themselves. With a little help from Miss Swallows over here.”

  For once, the black-skinned goblin didn’t call her Lady Swallows. It wouldn’t be appropriate in the present company, unless Yvonne deigned to name Sylvia such herself.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Bring it here at once.” Yvonne cracked her staff on the front desk twice in emphasis.

  With a heavy thud, Elroy placed the chest on the table. After waving a keystone in front of the lock, the werewolf popped open the lid. Yvonne stepped close, dark brown eyes gleaming as they took in the glow. Carefully, the hexe picked up each lamp, gazing into each in turn.

  A moment later, she spat in disappointment.

  “None of my girls,” she hissed, wrinkled face scrunched. Then her hand lingered on a different set of lamps. Each of these bore the sigil of the guard. “These souls belong to the culprits?”

  “Of course, Lady Taubert.” Gavin grinned, revealing rows of sharp, pointy teeth. “The guard never saw them. You can do with them whatever you wish.”

  Yvonne’s lips split into a hideous smile.

  “Oh, I have plans. I very much have plans,” Yvonne said, gently stroking the inner glass of the lamp. Then her brown eyes cut sharply back to the goblin and the wolf. “I’ll be holding onto all the lamps for now. Not just the culprits.”

  The hexe gestured, indicating that Elroy should close the lid. The werewolf didn’t move. A deep frown grew on his muzzle.

  “You have words. Use them, little pup,” Yvonne spat.

  “My apologies, Lady Taubert,” Elroy spoke. His golden eyes were firm. “But the souls of the victims should be returned to the public pool for resurrection.”

  “Being too straight-laced won’t win you any favors, boy,” Yvonne sneered.

  “Ah,” Gavin interrupted. “What my good friend here means to say is, he wants to make sure justice is served in the end.”

  “Heh heh heh,” Yvonne let out a wheezing, crackling laugh. Her smile was wide and wicked. “Justice. I’ll be having more than justice. I’ll have revenge. These foolish cretins need to learn that better a woman scorned than a witch.” The hexe’s head turned. She gestured with her staff. “But first, you there girl, introduce yourself.”

  “Sylvia Swallows, milady,” Sylvia answered, giving a little curtsy to be polite.

  The old woman stepped around the counter, drawing close so her sharp, brown eyes could gaze into a universe of fractal pink. The hexe huffed a moment later.

  “As I thought. You’re from that child Esmeralda’s brood.”

  Sylvia lifted a brow in surprise. “You know her?”

  “How could I forget a Laureate of Magic?” Yvonne said in retort. “One who rose in this fine city. And even if my memory had failed me, I would never forget the stink that came after. The hexe came knocking at my door, insisting yithmafar had been discovered by a true witch and not some magissa whore.”

  A sudden wariness washed over her. Yvonne was speaking of Roisin Owsley.

  Both witches, Sylvia realized, were swamp hags. Hecates Hexe Telma was the official name of their bloodline. Magissa and hexe were often at odds.

  “Pa!” Yvonne spat, without a sign of awareness. “What frauds. They brought that foolish witch in front of me, but she couldn’t name every arithmetic invariant. And she dared claim she discovered yithmafar first? The Collegium Magicae would’ve thrown me out by my ear if I’d voiced her complaint.”

  High Witch Taubert’s gaze turned back to the silver-haired witch.

  “A real pity that little girl was forced to run,” Yvonne continued. “Otherwise, she might well have been our Presiding Witch in a few centuries.”

  Sylvia relaxed a nudge.

  “I believe master would’ve left regardless,” Sylvia replied, referring to Lady Vallenfelt in the formal manner. “It was always her dream to build an Academy.”

  Eyes the color of bark examined the asteri.

  “Politics is a messy business,” Yvonne said. She shook her staff in the magissa’s direction. “Let me warn you girl, beauty isn’t a good thing. Not unless you’re strong enough to fend off a lustful prince. Better to be a hexe. When you want to be pretty, use a visage. Heh, heh, heh, then you’ll even be able to fool a lump of a husband into marrying you.”

  Yvonne gave a vile smile.

  “I can hear you, woman!” Egushawa shouted from the other room.

  The high witch lifted her staff and cracked it against the wall. Bang!

  “And I told you, I’ll be beautiful for as long as you’re handsome. Who’s handsome now, ya lump?” Yvonne sneered. The hexe sat back down. “Men. Pa! You can’t help but love them even though they drive you crazy. I’ll leave him to stew.” Then the hexe’s voice fell into a low, conspiratorial whisper. “But between me and you, I have a ravishing visage to tease him with in a few years.”

  Sylvia wore a stiff smile. She hoped her relationship with Emmy would be a lot better than this a few decades from now.

  “But you aren’t here to hear me rattle,” Yvonne said, quieting her ramble. Her gaze showed a vicious cunning. “You came here for business. Out with it girl.”

  Sylvia’s expression turned serious.

  “I’m looking to sell brooms,” she said. “Two hundred and fifty of them.”

  “That’s mighty big business for a little miss,” Yvonne commented. “I don’t mind having a look.”

  Yvonne Taubert gestured. In response, Sylvia slipped a Stella Iecit from her inventory. Not her personal broom, but one of the spares she brought with her.

  Yvonne ran her hands down the dark haft. Sylvia could see the whisper of causality magic probing the interior. She wasn’t worried Yvonne would steal her secrets. The hexe lacked a System and without it magical tools weren’t easy to reverse engineer.

  “Very light,” she commented, brown eyes still. Yvonne looked up, not a hint of emotion on her face. “How much are you charging?”

  “Fifty thousand,” Sylvia stated, starting with a number a fair bit above her expectations. “The Stella Iecit has the performance of a war broom while being light enough for travel. There are no competitors in its class.”

  All true, though Yvonne Taubert might not believe it.

  “Heh,” Yvonne sounded, eyes narrowing. “Performance makes or breaks a war broom. Even a slight difference provokes a major shift in the price. And fifty thousand? Pa! After the Prince and the Emperor take their cut, I’d be lucky to see a single soli.”

  The hexe tossed the stick onto the table as though it were refuse.

  “Five droms lighter means five more droms of equipment carried into every battle,” Sylvia argued. “Or five droms saved for a witch’s convenience.”

  “Hmm.” A sly smile spread on Yvonne’s lips. “I’ll buy the lot, but in return, I want a favor.”

  Sylvia’s eyes narrowed. Favors could be very expensive. And this one was costly indeed. By her estimation, the brooms should sell for thirty or forty grand apiece. By buying without haggling, Yvonne was putting another two to five million soli into Sylvia’s pocket.

  The asteri very much suspected that Yvonne was aiming to get her money’s worth.

  But it was also a hard deal to pass up. Especially when Sylvia was constrained by time.

  “That depends on the favor,” Sylvia said slowly.

  “I knew you were a businesswoman,” Yvonne said happily. The witch waved a hand toward the glowing soul lamps. “As you have no doubt noticed, I have a rat problem. The cretins are chewing on the beams of my house. I sell curses, you see. A good curse clings to the soul. It digs in deep, like a worm burrowing into the core of an apple. But malicious things that touch the soul have a heavy price.”

  “Karma,” Sylvia supplied.

  “Yes, karma,” Yvonne agreed. “That’s why I run a series of halfway houses. A place to help young witches get through difficult times. This gives me karma. Then, by selling nasty, vile curses, I transform that karma into coin.”

  “And a bunch of big-headed upstarts are ruining your game,” Sylvia finished. Pastel pink eyes tightened. “You want me to deal with them.”

  “Straight to the point. I like that,” Yvonne said. “I don’t want them dealt with. I want them ruined. I want them to writhe for a century in regret. And I want everyone to know I did it. Otherwise, some other fool punk will think they can mess with us witches.”

  “I would love to murder your rats,” Sylvia accepted, her lips showing a hint of vicious glee. Then she spread her hands in regret. “But I don’t see what help I can offer.”

  “Now, now little girl, a pretty face no one knows and a bunch of puppets ready to sell her?” Yvonne patted one of the lamps, her wicked brown eyes gleaming. “The fastest way to find the buyer is to sell someone to them.”

  Sylvia stiffened. “No.”

  “Hear me out first, girl.”

  “No,” Sylvia refuted. “I know what you’re planning and it’s too risky. They could keep my soul in a jar for years or ship me out to the far planes for the outsiders.”

  Infiltration missions were dangerous. Sylvia was strong, but she wasn’t strong enough to flip the table. Not to mention the pure grossness involved in this labor. Omor had been targeting beautiful women. It was obvious what kind of ring they were running.

  A couple million extra soli was nice, but it wasn’t that nice.

  “You won’t find another buyer for your brooms,” Yvonne warned.

  “I can sell them cheaper,” Sylvia countered.

  “Even if you drop the price to thirty, you won’t move more than a hundred in a year,” Yvonne countered with a sneer. “No one will buy untested brooms en masse, and whatever agreement you strike will demand exclusivity.”

  Sylvia scowled. “What makes you so certain I’m the woman for the job?”

  High Witch Taubert’s face showed a vile smirk.

  “Fate, my dear,” she said. She leaned forward, brown eyes sharp and cunning. “Spells of fate have a tendency to play off one another. Don’t think I missed your magic. You cast a line in search of business. I threw mine looking for a helper. First, I got the pup and the goblin. Now, I get you. A coincidence? I think not.”

  Of course. Things were going too smoothly. Sylvia was well on her way to hating fate magic.

  So why was it so, so annoyingly useful?

  “Take your time to think about it, dear,” the hexe said, leaning back in her chair.

  If Yvonne was right, this excursion would end in failure. Sylvia only had two months to find a buyer. Less really. And if she didn’t sell, Swift Brooms would be in trouble. Sylvia owed the System two thousand five hundred gold in goods or services in return for her contract.

  At the minimum.

  If she went back empty-handed, Sylvia would be in the hole for years. And in the Cloud Island Wilderness, the first few decades of growth were the most important.

  Still, was it worth the risk?

  “Lady Taubert,” Elroy interjected. “I don’t feel this plan is appropriate. The slavers are a problem for the guard. And, if I’m not mistaken, you plan to sell the victims to maintain authenticity.”

  “Quiet your mouth, pup. Your betters are speaking,” Yvonne snapped, shooting an angry glower. “If you want to catch a big fish, you need bait. Last time I tried to slip these rats a soul, they dumped it into different hands. I don’t know why, but this girl is what I need. And I’m offering a deal. A profitable one. One, I think, Miss Swallows will take.”

  “What assurances do I have?” Sylvia asserted, voice sharp.

  Yvonne grinned. The witch hammered on the wall with her staff. Bang! Bang! “Bring the things!”

  “I’m not your servant, old hag,” Egushawa roared back, voice muffled by the barrier between them. There was a heavy boom, boom as the wendigo moved unseen. “What things?”

  “The ones on my desk!” Yvonne screamed through the walls.

  Dear God, didn’t they have spells to communicate?

  “Your desk is covered with crap! How am I supposed to know what things you want?”

  “The stuff for the mission!” Yvonne yelled. “The mission. For revenge against those bastards who stole my girls.”

  There was a pause then – boom, boom, boom – the door was thrown open to reveal Egushawa’s bulky, hairy form. The giant man dropped a basket onto the table. His pale, blue eyes gazed at Sylvia for a long moment.

  This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Don’t let this hag drag you into a mess you can’t fight your way out of,” he grunted. Then he turned, slamming the door as he exited the room.

  Was this what they called a toxic relationship?

  “Take a look,” Yvonne encouraged happily. “Don’t you dare say this old woman isn’t prepared for all eventualities.”

  Sylvia pulled the basket closer, gazing inside. With the power of Observe Item, the use of each tool was made apparent.

  Her gaze paused on a talisman.

  “How does this even work,” Sylvia said in disbelief.

  “Good eye, good eye,” Yvonne praised. The hexe showed a great deal of pride. “There’s an anchor. The talisman just sparks the path to it. The rest of the magic is done on the other side. Heh, heh. I used it quite often years back. Even my rivals never figured out how to block it.”

  Sylvia looked in interest. “Can I see the anchor?”

  Yvonne sneered. “Not until you agree and make an oath not to steal it. My realm anchor is worth almost as many soli as this deal of yours.”

  The asteri pinched her chin. This changed things. It changed things quite substantially. In fact, this plan was starting to sound far more profitable than it was risky.

  Sylvia pulled a solid orb from the basket. Thin rings surrounded the sphere as though it were a depiction of Saturn. This was a realm ring array, and quite an interesting one at that.

  “I’ll need this fitted for my soul,” she said. “And, after the mission is complete, I want to keep it.”

  “I’ll be cutting a million from my purchase,” Yvonne said in retort. The hexe looked gleeful. “Then we have a deal?”

  Sylvia’s nose scrunched. A million? What a thief.

  “Three quarters,” Sylvia countered. “And I have to discuss this with my business partners first. Also, should I agree, I’ll need spells suitable for infiltration. My grimoire is rather thin on that side.”

  As a curse specialist, Yvonne ought to have lots of traditional hexes, right?

  “Pa! Why don’t you rob me blind?” Yvonne said angrily, hammering the table with her fist. “Fine. Run off and meet with your pets. We’ll discuss the finer details after. But know, I’ll be scraping back two soli for every one of mine you steal. And don’t waste my time. You have two days to make your decision.”

  “A pleasure doing business with you, Lady Taubert.”

  -oOo-

  “No way,” Belkis said angrily. “It’s too dangerous, little sis.”

  The group was gathered in a flat. Sylvia had rented multiple adjoined spaces in an apartment building for their stay in Pyrkagiás. There was no private pool. With their plans set for the short term, they’d decided on a public pool instead. Public pools weren’t as nice as private ones, but they were watched by soul officiates. Which, without a bunch of gargoyles, made them safer.

  Likewise, Sylvia’s phylactery remained in the Cloud Island Wilderness.

  The space was poorly furnished. To seat everyone, a couch and a couple of chairs had been dragged into the room. On Sylvia’s right, a glowing blue window showed Emmy’s face. To her left, a second window connected to Brianna in Kakós Lófos, with Diego from the Viridian Blades listening in.

  Silas, Josephine, and Isabella were physically present. The redheaded dragonling was sprawled on the couch, taking two thirds for herself. An uncomfortable looking Josephine was crammed up on the right side, not that Sylvia could tell from Josephine’s face. The flat, doll-like expression was as empty as ever, but her posture and the agitated psychic ether gave away her hidden emotions.

  “That was my first reaction too,” Sylvia noted blandly.

  The room had been sealed with privacy magic. Silent boundary, anonymous presence, and tangled weave had been cast to secure the space. Sylvia would’ve preferred to use private booth, but the System’s phone feature was stopped cold when the spell was in effect.

  A future improvement, maybe.

  Sylvia was wary of poking holes in her premier anti-divination magic, however. Perhaps what she needed was a specialized variation. Most advanced and high magics had replaceable modules to cover corner cases. Some even had rune sections that were like blank lines on a form. There, a mage could insert a runic chain to suit their wish.

  “Mmm,” Emmy hummed. “If Sylvia is bringing the idea to us, there must be a reason she thinks the risk is worth it.”

  Sylvia smiled. The emeraldette knew her best. Rather than answer, the silver-haired witch flicked out a series of blue windows. One in particular was made large and obvious. It was here Sylvia intended to start her discussion.

  “Yvonne has prepared several items to ensure the mission’s success. First is Hidden Hut. With this tool, I can carry my equipment even when I infiltrate. Any attempt to probe my soul will show an unconsolidated witch,” Sylvia explained. Anbaht would provide further protection, should more serious divination be used. “Just as importantly, any shackles they force into my soul will be negated.”

  Keeping a demon imprisoned was tricky. Governments generally preferred to keep criminals in a nightmare box. A nightmare box was an illusionary prison. Within it, the soul would be gifted with enough psychic energy to think but not enough essence to resurrect. This kept the demon awake and aware to experience their cell, but otherwise disembodied.

  Lady Vallenfelt had even brought a couple to the Cloud Island Wilderness.

  Slavers, however, needed something different. They didn’t want the captured souls to suffer, they wanted them to work. They also had to train them to work. For this task, a different kind of shackle was needed. For mages, the tool of choice was a mana tap. This was a cursed item that clung to the soul while poking a hole in the ‘bottle’ which contained a mage’s mana.

  And without mana, a witch was rendered helpless.

  Controlling a warrior demanded more complicated measures. Whereas mana pooled, ki soaked into the flesh. Squeezing it out was a challenge. Further, without ki any demon would be left bed-bound, unable to do the simplest labor. A magissa without their mana, however, could still provide the kind of ‘service’ these slavers intended.

  Incidentally, Sylvia would be happy to get the enchantment codes of all these tools. The Cloud Island Wilderness would inevitably have criminals of all sorts, particularly with the System happily twisting the justice system with gameplay logic.

  “Even with Hidden Hut, selling your soul to find the base of the slavers is very dangerous,” Emmy observed. “There is no guarantee they will resurrect you in a timely manner. They might even sell you to third parties or have you smuggled off plane.”

  Sylvia nodded.

  “That’s where the other two items come in.”

  Cognition jars were rare and expensive tools used to guard the soul. By maintaining awareness after death, a demon would have multiple defensive options. For instance, some tools – like a mirror pad – could still be used while dead. This would allow the victim to send out an SOS.

  For Sylvia, this tool was made more powerful. The awareness brought by digitized soul was very mechanical in nature. It wasn’t capable of complex thought. However, it was quite easy to set up gambits to trigger all kinds of actions under the right stimuli. The cognition jar made this all the better, as now the only reaction needed was to wake Sylvia up.

  When the third item was added, Sylvia’s safety was practically assured.

  “With the cognition jar, I can keep tabs on my situation. If they refuse to resurrect me, or if things start looking bad, I can trigger the teleportation talisman,” Sylvia said with confidence. “There are three layers of safety in this endeavor. First, my personal strength, which might let me fight my way out. Next, I have this teleportation talisman, which acts like a safety hatch. Finally, I have all of you.”

  Also, she’d have Yvonne and Egushawa. If Sylvia still balked with all these protections, then she may as well hide in a cave. Risk was everywhere. There was even a chance that, as Sylvia walked the streets, some archdemon would decide that what he really wanted was a new Sylvia doll to decorate his home.

  “This talisman cannot be strong enough to achieve its stated function,” Emmy observed, nebulous eyes studying the windows with seriousness.

  “The talisman just forms the connection,” Sylvia confirmed. “It actually uses fate magic to create the link. The code is fascinating. I’ll send it to you later. The gate magic is in the anchor. But Yvonne won’t let us look at it until we agree.”

  Just the realm crystal to operate the anchor would’ve cost several million soli. Sylvia was very, very interested in seeing the design.

  “Mmm,” the emeraldette sounded to indicate she understood.

  Belkis pressed her lips. “Little sis,” she said carefully. “This isn’t just about your safety. Slavers like this, they do things…. I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”

  Belkis didn’t know how much porn Sylvia had consumed as Eric. While porn wasn’t reality, Sylvia had a pretty good guess how a witch would be treated.

  Yet, Sylvia could see the worry in her sister’s molten eyes. Malik had taken a toll on the prisma. Transmigration had helped to heal the trauma, but the rational fears would linger. Sometimes, it took several lifetimes to recover from the psychological damage.

  Just as it had with Esmeralda Vallenfelt.

  “If things get too squick, I bail,” Sylvia assured.

  Technically, Sylvia’s part in this affair was done the moment Yvonne arrived. The asteri, however, very much intended to take her pound of flesh. And just as importantly, her chunk of the loot.

  Who knows, maybe these slavers would have something nice. Like an airship.

  “Before we make plans, we should start by asking, can Yvonne Taubert be trusted?” Isabella broke in.

  There were two redheads in the room. Silas Wells had a darker shade of red hair. The shadow hunter was also a good hand shorter than the horned instructor. By comparison, Isabella’s short-cropped hair was fiery. Though, the dragonling had nothing on the vividness Sylvia had seen among her fellow asteri.

  “Yvonne was Presiding Witch of The First Coven of Pyrkagiás five centuries past,” Emmy asserted. The emeraldette had the cool, crisp authority of a baroness. “She was a well-known figure even when I departed for the Timeless Beryl Wilderness. She was said to be fair, though oriented toward business rather than the affairs of witches.”

  “She’s also a hexe,” Belkis reminded.

  “Pyrkagiás has a high prevalence of magissa and xemyalistra,” Emmy replied. “Hexe are a lesser fraction of the population. If Yvonne was prejudiced, it would be difficult for her to hold the position of Presiding Witch.”

  True, though, Yvonne could simply have enough political savvy to keep her opinions to herself. Regardless, it was quite the stretch to assume the hexe was scheming against them. They’d literally just met.

  Though, Yvonne’s wish could’ve been: ‘deliver me a sucker so I can rob them blind.’

  …

  That was a nice wish, actually. Sylvia added the idea to her notes. Also, would a wish like that even work while Sylvia held Anbaht? When she got back to the Cloud Island Wilderness, the medallion needed some testing.

  “High Witch Taubert will have to buy half the brooms up front, and we’ll have the teleportation anchor in hand during the mission,” Sylvia pointed out, pushing aside her brief distraction.

  Sylvia paused. Her pastel pink eyes turned to the shadow hunter and Josephine.

  “Do we have an alternative path for sales?”

  “Half a day isn’t enough to get a feel for the market,” Silas Wells said smoothly. The redhead gazed across the room with his piercing, hazel eyes. “However, I suspect what Yvonne said was true.”

  Sylvia frowned. “And why do you think so?”

  The silver-haired asteri had a similar feeling, but the notion only existed in her gut. Yvonne had no reason to lie and Sylvia’s fated request had brought her to the witch for a reason. If Silas agreed with High Witch Taubert, Sylvia wanted to hear it all laid out.

  The redheaded hunter took a moment to gather his thoughts.

  “From what I understand, brooms are mostly sold to witches,” Silas mentioned.

  In the background, the emeraldette bobbed her head. Sylvia’s lips quirked. Brooms are for ladies. Ladies, Sylvia.

  “Not just witches,” Belkis inserted. “Other bloodlines fly on them too. But around half the sales are to witches. Or so I’ve heard.”

  There were millions of witches in Tartarus. The hecates lineage made up 0.8% of the netherworld’s population. The density was a bit higher in Hell and the Fey Federation, namely because witches were somewhat rarer in Heaven.

  “From this we can estimate that ten million sales is the theoretical limit of our market,” Silas explained. The redhead’s voice was smooth and confident. “However, we’ll never reach this number. Instead, we can take the ten million and start whittling away to find the real market size. First, we can ignore all the buyers who won’t want a Stella Iecit in specific. Next, we can discard all the parties who are interested in buying, but cannot afford one.”

  Oh. Sylvia suddenly understood the root of her mistake. She’d been dazzled by the raw numbers, thinking them so large there would be no trouble no matter how many brooms she tried to sell.

  “The biggest problem, however, is that demons are long-lived. Further, soul-bound equipment can last for centuries or even millennia,” Mr. Wells reminded. “Therefore, we should consider only one in a hundred of our potential customers currently in the market.”

  “Which means, we can only expect to sell a few thousand brooms a year,” Sylvia murmured, putting the final number in the ballpark.

  Of course, these were just annual sales. The long-life factor swung both ways. No business that sold cars would dare stock their lot for the next decade. A business which bought and sold brooms might well consider it.

  “Far less,” Silas said with authority. “You’re assuming everyone who’d want a Stella Iecit will buy one. But in reality, most of your prospective customers don’t even know the product is out there to purchase. With a good marketing campaign, Swift Brooms could sell a couple hundred brooms a year. Without name recognition, it’d be hard to sell more than a dozen.”

  Word of mouth was a powerful form of advertisement. The Stella Iecit was a good broom. As the System said, it could sweep all its competitors. But it’d take years before that reputation had time to percolate throughout Tartarus.

  She’d been too eager. Sylvia knew she had little experience in the world of business, but the easy market of the Cloud Island Wilderness had left her spoiled.

  “Stop talking about it and do it,” an exasperated voice broke in. Brianna’s tones came in through the void, voice projected into the room from a blue screen showing only the witch’s still avatar. “It’s a good deal with good money. If none of you are willing, I volunteer to have my soul shoved into a lamp.”

  …

  Sylvia nearly facepalmed.

  “Absolutely not,” Emmy pronounced with the firm, high tones of an indignant dean.

  There was bold and then there was reckless. No wonder Brianna had been president of the Hunter’s Club back at the Academy. Her sense of danger was broken.

  “If anyone is going, it’s me,” Sylvia asserted. “Yvonne found me through fate magic. I doubt she’ll accept anyone else.”

  Spells of fate never explained ‘the why’. Perhaps, only Sylvia’s soul, augmented with Anbaht, would escape the slaver’s inspection. Or maybe the System was needed to accurately determine the soul’s final position. Regardless, without knowing the secret magical factor, Yvonne wouldn’t allow anyone but Sylvia to participate in the main role.

  Nor would Sylvia let someone take action in her stead. She was the strongest. If anyone else went, they’d be stripping away a layer or two of safety.

  “Those who use fate must trust in fate,” Emmy murmured. The emeraldette’s sigh sounded through the blue window. “I am not fond of this approach, but the risks have been mitigated. The profit is certainly worthy of our consideration. Nor should we dismiss the rightness in punishing those who’d bring women harm.”

  A smile teased the corner of Sylvia’s lips. Was Riley rubbing off on Emmy? Lady Vallenfelt surely would’ve been colder.

  “Then, is everyone in agreement?” Sylvia questioned.

  Isabella shrugged. “It’ll be more exciting than watching the boxes.”

  “What’s there to decide?” Brianna sounded, seeming annoyed they had the meeting in the first place.

  Mr. Wells, at least, took a proper minute to ponder.

  “Helping High Witch Taubert will build connections with the local community,” he said. “And resolving the question of sales quickly will give me more time to focus on our purchases.”

  “I have faith in Sylvia,” Emmy added. The emeraldette’s gentle smile fell on the silver-haired witch. “Though my heart will be filled with worry.”

  “I have faith in me too,” Sylvia added shamelessly.

  Emmy did her best to hide her giggle.

  Belkis hesitated. “Before we agree, maybe we should contact Countess Chanlina.”

  Silence drenched the room, all eyes on the dark-skinned prisma. Emmy’s lips pursed. Sylvia eyed the emeraldette. There was clearly something she was missing when it came to local politics.

  “I would prefer to leave Chanlina uninvolved,” Emmy said after a long moment.

  “It’d be – ”

  “This is best discussed in private,” Esmeralda interrupted. Umbral eyes turned to the others. “If you’d please.”

  Sylvia made a gesture. The others politely went along with the suggestion, exiting the room. Brianna’s blue window blinked off.

  “Okay. What am I missing?” Sylvia asked.

  Belkis’s lips were pressed. She waited, hesitant to go against her master.

  “How much do you know about the politics of the fourth layer?” Emmy asked.

  “Belkis gave me the details on the trip here,” Sylvia supplied. “From what I understand, the whole fourth layer is controlled by Asmodeus through his harem. As a result, a great deal of the political power rests in the hands of the Prince’s wives.”

  The Prince of Lust famously maintained a harem of 72 wives. These women were nobles in their own right. If they weren’t, they would be titled soon after their marriage to the archduke. Therefore, the ladies represented a block of political power. Further, three of his wives held the title of duchess.

  Which was to say, Asmodeus didn’t rule one kingdom. He ruled four.

  “There are three major factions within the harem: the Traditionalists, the Monopolists, and the Sapphites,” Esmeralda continued, a teacher lecturing her student. “Over the millennia, these groups have expanded into political parties, with hundreds of the region’s nobles aligning under each. As of the modern era, only the Prince’s direct vassals and retainers are separate from the fray.”

  “That matches what Belkis told me prior,” Sylvia confirmed.

  “Excellent,” Emmy sounded, looking pleased.

  The dark-skinned witch glowed.

  “There’s a running joke in Tartarus that Asmodeus couldn’t have less than seventy-two wives if he tried,” Belkis quipped.

  “That is not a joke,” Esmeralda said, shaking her head. “Since both of you have a firm grasp of the basics, then let me ask: do you know why the harem regards every new wife with the utmost importance?”

  “I can’t say I do,” Sylvia said.

  Belkis also looked curious.

  With Asmodeus as their husband, it was natural for the harem to have influence beyond their station. However, there were thousands of nobles in the fourth layer. The archdemon’s wives were just a few among many. Of course, the three duchesses would have incredible political power, but this strength was independent of their position as a Prince’s wife.

  Thus, there was little reason for the harem to consider new wives important. In fact, Sylvia was rather surprised the women didn’t fight to lower the number.

  “This is a secret, so you shan’t repeat it for other ears,” Emmy said firmly. “When a woman marries the Prince of Lust, she agrees to be altered by dream magic. This binds her to love Lord Asmodeus unfailingly and also to love her sister wives equally.”

  “Wait,” Belkis interrupted. “I thought that was a rumor.”

  “It is no rumor,” Emmy stated. “I was presented with the terms, personally, after Archduke Asmodeus accepted me as a prospect. This geas lays a foundation of cooperation. Therefore, while the harem is split into factions, it is also strongly united. So much so, that they have seized total control of the political framework.”

  Emmy’s shadowy, green eyes turned to Sylvia.

  “In terms you might understand, they have become ‘senators’ where ordinary nobles remain ‘representatives,’” she explained. “And the archduke is picky. Not just any woman will do. Only the most beautiful and talented can be granted pass into his palace.”

  “I see,” Sylvia mused, pinching her chin. “So, a new wife is like electing a new politician. Each of the factions wants the next wife to belong to their team so that in the future they’ll have more sway.”

  “Precisely,” Esmeralda confirmed. The emeraldette set her chin on her hand, poised and elegant. “Talents are highly favored. And you, my dear, are the most perfect lady I’ve ever met.”

  “Don’t say things like that,” Sylvia deadpanned. “You’ll hurt Belkis’s feelings.”

  Emmy giggled.

  “No way I can be as adorable and as talented as my little sis,” Belkis refuted.

  Tch. Belkis was perfectly adorable when she was shorter.

  “I know. She’s just perfect,” Emmy teased. “But I think you understand why Chanlina should be avoided. If she realizes Sylvia’s youth, she will waste no effort bringing her before Lord Asmodeus. And when she does, Sylvia will become immersed in harem politics, much like I was those years past.”

  “But Chanlina never forced you,” Belkis murmured.

  Ah. Belkis had some fondness for the countess.

  “Chanlina’s opinion is irrelevant,” Emmy said. “The faction will take action even if she does not. And Belkis, Chanlina’s kindness is colder than you think.”

  The prisma let out a breath. “I did leave for Iacchus after she kept asking when you’d return. Sorry. I didn’t know things had gotten so serious.”

  “The one who is most sorry is me,” Emmy gave a dramatic sigh. “I should’ve abused my authority and forced you to come with me.”

  Belkis gave a few happy nods.

  “The only thing I’m hearing in this conversation, is that I’d be ten times better off selling my soul to a ring of despicable slavers,” Sylvia interjected with a sneer.

  “I still don’t like it,” Belkis said, shaking her head.

  Nebulous eyes glimmered with celestial beauty. “Sylvia, are you confident?” Emmy asked gently. “If you are not, then just let this venture fail. You know I’ll be there for you.”

  “I’m confident,” Sylvia asserted. “As confident as I can be given the unknown unknowns.”

  “Mmm,” the emeraldette hummed. “I apologize. I should’ve realized so many brooms wouldn’t be easy to sell.”

  “Neither of us have ever engaged in business at this scale,” Sylvia rejected.

  Lady Vallenfelt had owned a barony, but managing a domain and collecting taxes involved different occupational skills than buying and selling goods in bulk. Knowledge often blurred the lines between domains, but specialization was always important.

  “Belkis, please keep my Sylvia safe.”

  “Of course,” the prisma said firmly.

  Her proclamation would’ve inspired more confidence if the elemental witch didn’t look like a fourteen-year-old.

  “I’ll call the others,” Sylvia announced. “Then we’ll make plans.”

  -oOo-

  Vampire

  Type: Mixed/Physical

  Potential: High

  Commonality: Uncommon

  Order: Nox Sanguis

  Bloodlines: Umbra, Rex, Bestia

  Vampires are a broad category of demons, with the shadow vampire being the most common among them. Regal and bestial vampires are rarer, though not to the degree to be considered rare in Hell. Outside of Hell, vampires of all kinds are significantly less common, though they can be found in both Heaven and the Fey Federation.

  All members of the Sanguis genera have the innate trait, blood harvest. This lets them consume blood remotely. Not only can this be used for cultivation, but also for rapid regeneration. Vampires convert foreign blood essence into hitpoints most efficiently. However, they can also convert blood into mana or ki. During Awakening and Transcendence the efficiency of this conversion improves.

  For this reason, high-level vampires are feared. These creatures can transform into perpetual motion machines in large-scale warfare, making the vampire species one of the best when it comes to defeating armies whose individual power is several classes below their own.

  Unlike werewolves, vampires must undergo a period of blood refinement to transform harvested blood essence into soul essence. This may take several hours of effort, depending on the quality of the blood. There are two advantages of this process. First, it moderately improves resource management and digestion efficiency. Second, refined blood can be condensed into stones. As blood stones can be traded within the vampire community, this generates strong incentives for upper-level vampires to create clans or families.

  Vampires are well known for their rigorous societies, which place heavy emphasis on etiquette and station. As blood stones can be transacted across all members of the Sanguis genera, this has resulted in a broadly shared culture. Within these societies, blood stones can easily replace soli as the currency of choice.

  Due to their outwardly human appearance and the abhorrence of slavery among their kind, vampires are considered a classic high-born demonic bloodline. Of the vampire types, the bestia have the least regard, as they are too similar to the dogs.

  - FROM RUNNING THE BLOCK TO OWNING IT -

  - [SURVIVE] - [BUILD] - [CONQUER] -