Something had happened to the entire academy.
Not just Sylvia. Not just Tom.
Everyone.
Every student I passed wore the same distant, vacant expression—a look eerily similar to the one I saw on my friends' faces. Hollow curiosity. Emotionless fascination.
Even my vessel had begun displaying signs of interest in the sorcerous arts. Subtle changes. Shifts in instinct. An unnatural pull toward something it had previously ignored.
On the outside, I mimicked their expressions—blank, intrigued, subdued—blending into the sea of passive observers. But internally? My mind was racing.
I couldn't figure out what was happening.
This… wasn't in the original story.
It must have been triggered by the changes I've made—the choices that fractured the timeline and rewrote the narrative thread.
But that raised a far more troubling question.
Why sorcery?
Why was everyone—all at once—drawn to the same path? Sorcery had always been a niche art, demanding and dangerous. Not something that would spark mass obsession overnight.
Was this some sort of test?
Could this be the work of Charles, the Second Headmaster?
It sounded like something he would do—but why now? And why so suddenly?
What does he gain from guiding the entire academy… toward sorcery?
As my thoughts spiraled, a pool of black liquid rippled into existence before me, halting my steps.
Reinhardt rose from the shifting darkness, and Grunthar rose soon after behind of him.
Reinhardt's expression matched mine—and everyone else's. That same glassy-eyed intrigue. That eerily placid face. His posture, his gaze, even the rhythm of his breathing—identical to the rest of the student body.
But Grunthar?
He was... normal.
Completely unaffected.
His brows furrowed slightly as he took in his surroundings, confused but not alarmed. His usual skepticism and fiery awareness were all intact. A quick read of his expression confirmed it—he hadn't noticed any change in our behavior.
So.
Whoever orchestrated this... had excluded the School of Sorcery entirely.
That made sense.
They were already immersed in the craft—already fascinated by its power. There was no need to manipulate what was already in motion.
Instead, whoever was behind this illusion likely cast a veil over the sorcerers' perception, ensuring they remained oblivious to the sudden shift in the rest of us.
Interesting.
"I've brought him as you commanded, young master," Reinhardt said respectfully, stepping forward and handing me a small stack of worn, leather-bound tomes. "These are the books I could find related to the 58th Shadow."
"Thank you," I nodded, taking the books from him. "You can head to your next class now."
Without another word, Reinhardt nodded once and melted back into the pool of black liquid, disappearing in a quiet ripple of shadow.
"Uh… young master," Grunthar spoke up, scratching the back of his neck. "Don't I have a class to attend as well?"
He glanced around the hallway with unease. Without Reinhardt teleporting him directly, he'd have to sprint all the way to the School of Sorcery, which was halfway across campus—and that wasn't happening with his massive build.
I looked up at him and offered a small smile.
Then, reaching as high as I could, I patted him on the right arm—the closest I could reach to his shoulder.
"Sorry, but I don't think you'll be making it to your next class today. You might get scolded next time, but don't worry—I'll compensate you for it."
Grunthar blinked once, then nodded without hesitation. "Understood, young master."
We made our way to the library to begin our discussion on sorcery. From what I could tell, the vessel was growing increasingly curious about the subject. Almost as if it needed knowledge to quench a thirst that wasn't entirely mine.
It wasn't urgent. Not yet.
But it was building—like a quiet tide rising beneath calm waters.
"Just a question, young master," Grunthar said as he flipped through a worn volume titled "Introduction to the Arts of Sorcery". His eyes flicked up from the page to meet mine. "Why pursue sorcery at all, when you're already so proficient in magic—especially for your age?"
I leaned back slightly, considering his question.
We were seated at a corner table on the second floor of the grand library—the section designated for beginner-level sorcery. Despite the towering shelves and endless rows of tomes, only the first part of the floor was accessible to us. The rest was sealed away behind magical locks and surveillance enchantments.
The Academy didn't take risks when it came to dangerous knowledge.
Every floor of the library was meticulously divided into sections, arranged not just by topic but by mastery level. Students were forbidden from accessing tomes beyond their comprehension. If one attempted to overreach—especially with rituals or spells beyond their grasp—the library's guardians would immediately lock down access.
After all, a miscast ritual could do more than scar a soul. It could rip it apart.
"Hm…" I pondered his question for a moment, fingers lightly tapping against the spine of the book in my hands. "Perhaps the path I walk simply demands it of me."
Grunthar studied me in silence, then slowly closed his eyes.
When they opened again, a blue, ghastly fire flickered to life within them—cold and unblinking.
"Then I must warn you," he said solemnly. "The path you seek is a dangerous one. Even more so than magic, in certain cases. If you treat it lightly, there's a chance it might devour you."
"I'm well aware," I answered calmly, locking eyes with him. There was no fear in my voice. "Is that the heart of sorcery, then?"
Grunthar nodded, his voice respectful but firm.
"Yes. While wizards and witches refine mana into a Mana Heart, sorcerers walk a darker route—they form a contract with a being that has experienced death. In return, they're granted Nether Vision."
He raised a hand, pointing one long, claw-like nail to his glowing eyes.
"Without Nether Vision, you can't perceive the aura of death. It's like looking at the night sky and seeing only blackness—when in truth, it's teeming with stars."
He paused, brow furrowing.
"Wait… You don't have Nether Vision?"
I blinked. "No. I'm new to all this. Is there a problem?"
His expression faltered. The fire in his eyes flickered—and then slowly faded.
"U-Uh…" He hesitated, visibly unsettled. "N-No, no problem… It's just… I wasn't expecting someone without Nether Vision to have such a dense aura of death clinging to them."
I smiled at his response. "Ah, that. Probably from all the corpses I've handled in experiments. Don't let it bother you."
"I… I see," Grunthar replied, forcing a chuckle as he looked away. "Yes… that must be it."
"So, by forming a contract with a being that has experienced death… that could mean a ghost, a lich, a spirit, or even a reaper?" I asked, raising a brow in curiosity.
Grunthar nodded. "Yes. It doesn't matter who you form the contract with—Nether Vision remains the same. However, if the being is of a higher rank, it helps you adjust to the power more quickly. That said, you can still adapt on your own over time—it just takes longer."
He paused briefly before adding with a grimmer tone, "But higher-level beings rarely, if ever, agree to form contracts. They have no mortal desires. No greed, no longing, no real interest in our world. Unless, of course… something catches their attention."
He leaned back, his eyes narrowing slightly. "And in most cases, what does interest them… involves mass murder. So, personally, I wouldn't recommend that route."
"..."
I was left speechless by his casual tone as he delivered that horrifying detail.
I knew most of the story already—having sealed large parts of it away from memory to keep things interesting—but I'd forgotten about this part.
The blood price of sorcery.
Wait a minute...
Ryuk, are we in a contract? I asked mentally, trying to suppress the chill running down my spine.
A soft chuckle echoed in my mind as Ryuk manifested on my left shoulder, his wings half-folded and expression calm.
"That's a different kind of contract," he said, shaking his head. "You can't form one with me for something like Nether Vision. I find it… insignificant. That's why I've never entered into such pacts with mortals."
He glanced at me with mild amusement. "Just find a normal ghost. In the end, Nether Vision is the same—no matter who you get it from. Sorcerers just love looking up to higher beings. It feeds their pride. Nothing more."
Or… I could form a contract with Moriaty. And he could do the same with me. After all, both of us have experienced death.
The thought alone made me smile—quietly, inwardly. A wicked, brilliant sort of amusement.
"...You are one insane..." Ryuk muttered, narrowing his eyes at me with a mix of awe and disbelief. "How do you even come up with these ideas?"
Who knows? I replied playfully, the grin still echoing in my mind.