Chapter 198
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Chapter 198: Empathy
Sylve’s Room
The room was a reflection of a typical young girl’s world—lavender hues dominated the decor, and plush teddy bears adorned every corner. Sylve sat gracefully on a light-colored sofa, her delicate figure poised as she attentively listened to Mr. Moriarty’s narrative.
Bai Yan sat beside her, speaking with a composed demeanor. He elaborated on the knowledge he had gleaned during his time at the Demon Hunt Agency.
“The energy of the universe flows endlessly. Magic, as we know it, is merely a method of manipulating this energy to produce phenomena. It thrives on structured processes. For instance, in the Night Union, some spells are programmed into software by hackers and cast just like running code…”
He paused briefly, meeting her gaze.
“You should have a grasp of the fundamentals by now.”
Sylve’s smile faltered. She bit her lip, her voice hesitant as she confessed, “I… I think I understand, but I’m not entirely sure.”
Though Bai Yan had shared only the basics of the extraordinary realm, the information was invaluable. Knowledge about transcendent powers was akin to gold—precious and rare.
The texts Bai Yan had encountered in the Demon Hunt Agency’s archives were treasures. Some could fetch millions or even tens of millions on the market, and a few, containing inherent extraordinary powers, were beyond monetary value.
Despite the Agency’s vast resources and its openness to its Night Watchers, Sylve’s grasp on magic was limited. Her learning ability, Bai Yan noted with quiet resignation, was mediocre at best.
In an afternoon of teaching, it became evident: Sylve would require months, if not longer, to master even the simplest spells. Her potential fell far short of that of Alan, who had achieved remarkable proficiency through dedicated effort.
Alan’s talents allowed him to focus on advanced-level spells, avoiding the tedium of simpler ones. His expertise resembled a pianist’s—his fingers adept at orchestrating the rhythm of magic.
Conversely, for an ordinary transcendent, mastering ten spells proficiently was an arduous feat. True masters of magic, however, could grasp new spells swiftly, akin to sight-reading a musical score. At their pinnacle, they created original spells—some so potent they became legendary forbidden arts.
Bai Yan shifted his thoughts. If Sylve’s potential in magic was limited, alternative paths existed—Relics, rituals, and potions could still strengthen a transcendent. Yet, rituals carried inherent risks. Most were perilous, offering no room for practice.
A particular ritual crossed Bai Yan’s mind, and he smiled.
“Sylve, are you weary of magic theory? Shall I teach you a simple ritual instead?”
Sylve nodded earnestly. “Mr. Moriarty, I know rituals involve a kind of… game. A game between oneself, the world, and the gods.”
Bai Yan shook his head gently. “You’re close, but not quite accurate. It’s more a game between the ritual initiator and the forces they appeal to—the world and the gods.”
He leaned forward.
“The outcomes of rituals depend on one’s standing. For some, a ritual is an act of worship; for others, it’s a negotiation. But remember, Sylve, rituals are not without risk. Missteps, especially those involving Outer Gods, can lead to dire consequences. Steer clear of them at all costs. Do you understand?”
Sylve nodded. “I’d never dare approach anything involving the Outer Gods. But… are minor rituals truly dangerous?”
“They can be,” Bai Yan said solemnly. “Even a simple ritual can spiral into catastrophe if mishandled. Imagine offending a water-controlling deity during a ritual—it could result in you never tasting water again.”
Sylve shuddered at the thought.
“Rest assured,” Bai Yan said with a calming smile. “The ritual I’ll teach you is safe. Let’s begin.”
He arranged four matchsticks at the table’s corners and placed a bowl of pristine water at its center.
“This ritual invokes the Goddess of Justice, Fontaine,” he explained.
Curious, Sylve asked, “Who is Fontaine? I’ve never heard of her.”
Bai Yan guided her hand to a matchstick, gently pressing her fingers down. “Repeat this incantation.”
Sylve obeyed, her voice steady at first.
“Our past has shaped our present, our choices have shaped our present, and so we share the same feelings. We will struggle and suffer together…”
Abruptly, pain surged through
her hand. She gasped,
instinctively wanting to pull
away, but Bai Yan’s firm grip
held her in place.
“Stay calm,” he instructed softly.
The agony was unlike anything
Sylve had endured before.
Tears welled in her eyes as she
trembled, her mind racing.
“Why… Why are you doing
this?” she whimpered.
Bai Yan’s voice was calm,
almost detached.
“Didn’t you once break a
classmate’s hand, Sylve? This
is merely a small ritual of
empathy, allowing you to feel
the pain you caused.”
Sylve froze, her breath
hitching. “She… She insulted
me and my mother! She even
bit my hand!”
“And why did she lash out?”
Bai Yan pressed. “Because you
bullied her, didn’t you?”
Tears streamed down Sylve’s
face as she stammered,
“Everyone dislikes her… even
the teacher ignores it…”
Bai Yan released her hand.
Sylve cradled it, the pain
gradually subsiding. She
collapsed onto the sofa,
trembling and silent.
“Class is over for today,” Bai
Yan said as he stood. “We’ll
continue tomorrow.”
Sylve watched him leave, her
heart pounding. She was
terrified.
That night, Sylve sat on her
bed, clutching a pillow. She
longed to confide in her
mother but hesitated.
Finally, she approached Lady
Helen’s door.
Her mother’s voice called out.
“Sylve? What’s wrong?”
Inside, Sylve recounted the
day’s events.
Helen listened intently before
speaking. “You must apologize
to your classmate tomorrow.
Sincerely.”
Sylve’s eyes widened. “But—”
“No buts,” Helen interrupted.
“Mr. Moriarty values integrity. If
you apologize, he won’t punish
you again.”
Sylve nodded reluctantly, her
fears lingering as she returned
to her room.
