Day 2 of school. The morning class was Elven Language, and this time, Hill was no longer dozing off or looking absent-minded.
She brought that still-unfinished draft paper to the Academy, continuing her attempts at improvement. This project was expected to take several weeks, and even with her [Extraordinary Magic] talent, Hill didn’t dare guarantee success.
For most mages, improving magic was a thankless and arduous task. The complexity of magic was comparable to programming in her previous life—perhaps even more difficult, because code couldn’t be compared with magic runes.
It was unstable, volatile, with countless meanings; frameworks that seemed steady might collapse the moment of casting, hurting the mage in turn. This wasn’t a game world—most mages could very well end up injuring or crippling themselves during magical research.
When programmers type code, does it ever jump off the screen to punch them in the face?
Of course not. So researching magic was almost like working with explosives—one wrong move, and your whole family could be blown sky-high.
Vocabulary spilled from the teacher’s mouth, but for once, it didn’t go in Hill’s left ear and out her right. That was simply because, in her state of focus, she didn’t hear the teacher’s lecture at all.
Helena had already fallen asleep. She’d even dozed off while praying with her parents in the Holy Light Cathedral. For her, Elven Language’s hypnotic power rivaled the most tedious prayers of the Holy Light Church. If this world had hypnosis apps, then for Helena, it would probably be a radio with an Elven Language lesson tape plugged in.
As for Otis, she was the Academy’s acknowledged Elven Language genius, even somewhat famous in the town. So… she should have been listening intently.
Yet clearly, all of Otis’s attention was fixed on the draft in Hill’s hand, where a simple magic array was being drawn. Hill only had one feather quill, but her slender, graceful hand moved with the precision of a fine instrument; the array she drew looked almost identical to the one in the textbook.
Otis couldn’t help rubbing her eyes. She even secretly pulled her Magic class textbook from her drawer, cross-checking line by line. After a few minutes, she recognized that the array Hill was drawing was for casting the Light spell.
This was the most basic of basic spells—even Otis, whose magical aptitude could only be described as tragic, had succeeded with it before. Although, during her rare attempts, the spell lasted only a few seconds, and the light was dimmer than a candle.
But now, the magic array Hill was drawing so openly in class looked subtly different from the one described in the textbook.
It was larger, and included some runes whose purpose Otis couldn’t fathom.
Soon, Otis found herself unable to keep up. Every stroke Hill made was incomprehensible to her. She even wondered if Hill was treating this draft as a fill-in-the-blank exercise for Elven Language, stuffing unrelated words into every gap…
Fill-in-the-blank exercises—Hill’s eternal agony when learning English in her previous life. The Elven Language classes in this world, naturally, also assigned similar homework, tormenting Hill for a long time. But now, she wasn’t filling in blanks randomly, but rather trying to boost the Light spell’s brightness while keeping energy consumption low.
Duration was out of consideration; as long as the brightness was intense enough, even one or two seconds would be enough to blind a crowd.
For the entire morning, Hill poured her energy into this. The Elven Language teacher was an elderly pedant who, in his youth, had even visited the Elven Empire, and since returning had regarded the language as his lifelong faith. Even in class, he spoke with a peculiar cadence, reminiscent of a priest chanting prayers in a church, his voice full of passion.
Sadly, too many in the classroom were utterly unmoved by Elven Language. Even Otis, a model student, was startled back to reality only when the bell signaled the end of class.
She could hardly believe it—had she really spent the whole morning staring at Hill’s mysterious scribbles?!
No, Hill was clearly researching a magic she didn’t know—though to her, it may as well have been gibberish.
Yesterday, Madam Anna’s words were branded into Otis’s mind like a seal:
“Otis, you must understand, you’re not learning magic for me, but for your future… I don’t want my daughter to repeat my mistakes… Your father’s word is absolute!”
Yes, if she didn’t become a mage, didn’t awaken as an extraordinary, she’d be scheduled for one banquet after another as an adult. Her father would parade her before the talented young men of other families, and one of them would become her future husband.
Thinking of this, Otis felt so repulsed she nearly gagged.
She understood her mother’s painstaking intentions, and was shocked by her mother’s frankness.
Her mother didn’t love her father. Her mother’s father—her grandfather—was, like her current father, a man who saw his daughter as a pawn for political marriage. They would dress up their daughters, raise them into beautiful, witty songbirds, then sell them for a good price—just to lock them in another gilded cage.
Most nobles did this. Among them, those fluent in Elven Language were rare, highly sought-after prizes.
Otis’s breath grew heavy. She glanced at the still-sleeping Helena—this adorable child was fast asleep, a ribbon of drool trailing from the corner of her mouth, soaking the desk in a thoroughly unladylike way.
Meanwhile, Hill’s pen finally stopped. She stretched, looking utterly relaxed. Her exquisite face was like that of a pampered housecat, her lazy expression as warm and pleasant as the sunshine streaming in through the window.
Otis couldn’t help swallowing. Maintaining her noble-lady’s poise, she leaned over, biting Hill’s ear and whispering, “Hill, Hi—ll!”
Hill snapped out of her thoughts, her head a bit dizzy. [Extraordinary Magic] was a God-given talent, but also a burden. Right now, she felt “hungry” earlier than expected.
By rights, having filled up on blood last time, this hunger shouldn’t have come until tomorrow. Clearly, overusing her talent had hastened it.
Her mind was foggy. Then, a warm breath tickled her ear—someone said something… She couldn’t really hear, or maybe she did, but her clouded brain couldn’t process the information.
Now, only instinct drove Hill. Next to her was the fragrance of a young girl, penetrating flesh and cloth alike, charging straight into her nostrils.
Sniff, sniff!
What’s that smell? Food!
Hill’s lips curled in a blissful smile. Was there ever anything more wonderful? The moment she felt hungry, a delicious meal delivered itself to her. Though, compared to the flavor she’d tasted yesterday, something seemed missing.
But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was mealtime.
With that mysterious smile on her face, Hill turned her head. Otis looked completely flustered, but in Hill’s eyes, there was only the fair, exposed neck at the girl’s collar. The pampered noble lady’s skin was delicate as tofu—soft, smooth, easily bruised.
She leaned in, and before Otis could speak, pressed her lips to Otis’s vulnerable neck.
Eek!
The lovely young lady made the most embarrassing sound.
Never in her life had Otis encountered such an intimate scene.
Her peer, a girl her age, in the classroom, with people all around… had just kissed her?!
What was going on—what was Hill doing?
Otis could clearly feel the astonishing heat radiating from her neck. Hill’s small mouth only covered a tiny patch, but the sensation was impossibly soft. Then came a trace of wetness, and Otis’s face froze.
That slick sensation, that unbelievably nimble touch…
Did Hill just stick her tongue out and lick her?
Why kiss there, and why use her tongue?
Because this was a pre-feeding ritual for the Blood Clan. Weak young vampires often performed pointless ceremonies over rare delicacies.
Kissing, licking, **…
Each Blood Clan member had their own ritual; Hill’s was the gentlest of all, so gentle she seemed almost childlike.
After savoring enough of the scent, it was time for the main course. Hill opened her mouth, her upper canines gradually elongating into fangs…
“Hill!” Otis suddenly shoved the girl away, cheeks red as a ripe apple, her normally snow-white neck now a blaze of color, with a conspicuous “strawberry” mark—a brand, sparkling with moisture in the sunlight.
“Mm, huh?”
Hill’s muddled mind finally cleared. First, she realized she was in the Academy classroom. Second, that she’d somehow let her fangs show.
Thankfully, they weren’t fully out.
She hurriedly drew them back. Looking up, she saw Otis’s eyes misted with tears, as if someone had just bullied her.
Could that someone be… herself?
Hill, finally realizing, was filled with embarrassment.
She tried, “Sorry, Otis. I may have just done something inappropriate. Please forgive me.”
Whatever the reason, with a lovely girl about to cry before her, the only thing to do was apologize.
Otis’s voice was choked, and she struggled to hide her panic. “You just… never mind. I wanted to remind you, tomorrow’s the weekend.”
The weekend? Now fully awake, Hill remembered her appointment with Madam Anna to work as a tutor every weekend.
“Our carriage will pick you up from your apartment, so you don’t have to walk all that way.” Otis’s voice grew softer, her hand unconsciously covering the spot where Hill had kissed her.
The teasing of a tongue, the movement of lips, the sensation of lips, teeth, and tongue together… It all felt like a runaway carriage, crashing around inside Otis’s mind.
Now her own brain was a fog.
Hill recalled what she’d just done and was stunned. How could she do that to her good friend in public?!
How inhuman!
…
Oh, right, she wasn’t human to begin with.
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