NOVEL NEXT B2. Chapter 17. Great, Now I Have to Kill Someone or Lose Everything
The silence in the chamber lasted exactly three seconds before Cordelia's delighted laugh shattered it.
"Oh, that's the best show of the season," she said with satisfaction, appearing at Mo's elbow as they watched the Council members' stunned faces. "Did she really read his signature, though? No! Don't tell me. I'd prefer to enjoy this drama as it evolves. That kind of controlled ferocity in defense of truth? Pure aphrodisiac for someone like me. And… like you."
Mo was already moving, following Emily into the corridor. She caught up just as Emily turned a corner, nearly colliding with her.
"That was…" Mo started.
"Stupid?" Emily suggested, but she was smiling. "Probably. But I'm tired of them treating me like a curiosity instead of an expert. I've earned my degree and my position on Earth. Now, it feels like I have to do that all over again. But on top of being a woman, now I'm fighting against the fact that I'm a human."
They stood there, too close in the narrow corridor where the Academy's ambient magic always ran stronger, making Mo's succubus energy curl toward Emily like small fire seeking oxygen. The enchanted torches flickered in response to their proximity, casting shadows that seemed to push them closer together. Mo could smell the coffee Emily had been drinking—Earth coffee modified and improved at Mo's plantations with magic and special soils. She could see the exhaustion Emily was hiding, the strain of three weeks analyzing impossible data.
"You were brilliant," Mo said.
Emily's smile shifted—the sharp edges smoothing into something that made Mo's chest ache with recognition, the same expression she'd worn that morning before the parliamentary session. "I learned from the best. Someone taught me that change can be both powerful and humane."
"Emily…"
"I know," Emily interrupted. "Professional distance. Power imbalances. Age diff…" Emily paused, her scientific precision warring with something rawer. "All valid concerns. None of them changing what we have here." She stepped back, creating a space that felt like a chasm. "But after tomorrow, when the Tournament starts... things are going to change."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that I've spent three weeks analyzing magical networks and power dynamics and probability matrices. My skill… it gives me amazing insights into this new world of magic. And in all that data, one pattern remains constant. The connection between you and the System isn't a fluke even if you don't have an interface like I do. My skill didn't appear by chance. This… something… between us isn't just personal. It's part of something larger. The System recognizes it even if we're trying to ignore it."
Before Mo could respond, footsteps echoed down the corridor. They stepped apart automatically, distanced masks sliding back into place.
Valerius appeared around the corner, slightly out of breath. "Mo, problem. The Tournament tasks have been announced. You need to see this."
"Arrrgh! Why can't some of you come just once and say: Mo, good news! We don't have to worry about anything anymore!"
***
The announcement board in the main hall drew a crowd like blood lured crimson pixies. Students pressed forward, trying to read the gilt letters that had appeared on the ancient stone.
TOURNAMENT OF PRACTICAL VILLAINY
Task One: Revolutionary Suppression Strategies
Task Two: Diplomatic Crisis Resolution
Task Three: To Be Determined by Participant Performance and Economic Climate
Task Four: To Be Determined by Participant Performance and Political Climate
Mo stared at the list. Her friends were right. These tasks felt like they were specifically targeted at recent events. Not only that, but also at her participation in those recent events.
"Subtle," Nyx said dryly. "Why not just call it 'Things Mo Has Done Recently: The Competition'?"
"Because that would be admitting I've done anything noteworthy," Mo replied, but her mind was racing. "And in their books, I'm still a provisional Dark Lady, not worth mentioning."
But it definitely looked like someone on the High Council had designed these tasks specifically to test—or expose—her approach.
"Look at the first task," Lucian said, frost spreading from where he gripped the wall. "'Revolutionary Suppression Strategies.' That's literally about the goblin uprising."
"Which I resolved through integration, not suppression," Mo said. "But they'll expect traditional approaches. Military force. Intimidation. Torture."
"I'm not sure we should necessarily feel targeted here," Valerius said thoughtfully. "Uprisings aren't something happening only in Mo's domain or our territories. It's everywhere now, with the servant species gaining magic and finding new leverage over the ruling class. It may be just that they're reflecting the real state of affairs in the Tournament."
He paused, tapping his fingers against his thigh. "There's precedent. The Tournament of 1453 included 'Plague Containment Strategies' when the Crimson Death was spreading through demon territories. And in 1782, they changed the third task mid-competition to 'Earthquake Recovery Protocols' after the Great Sundering hit three major realms. The Academy's always used current crises as teaching opportunities."
"Teaching opportunities," Mo repeated flatly. "Right. Nothing to do with certain Council members having issues with my methods."
"Oh, it's definitely both," Valerius said with a slight smile. "The Academy excels at killing multiple birds with one conveniently timed stone."
A hand landed on Mo's shoulder. She turned to find Cordelia grinning with predatory delight.
"You are my best acquisition, you know," the dragon said. "So, I'll tell you this, even while we compete against each other in this Tournament. They're not testing whether you can do traditional villainy. They're testing whether your bizarre approach works when directly challenged by traditional methods. At least some of them."
"You knew," Mo accused.
"Suspected. My aunt might have mentioned that certain Council members were concerned about 'radical agendas infiltrating Academy traditions'." Cordelia's grin widened. "They want to prove your ways don't work. That real power requires traditional brutality."
"And if I fail?"
"Then your little revolution loses credibility. Yes, a few Houses will fall during the revolts. They will probably be consumed by the larger entities. Maybe we will even join the feast," she licked her lips. "The D.E.V.I.O.U.S. framework becomes a failed experiment. We'll probably still implement and hugely benefit from it. But traditional powers will regain their footing. End of story."
Mo looked back at the announcement. Tomorrow, everything she'd built would be put on trial, disguised as academic competition. And somewhere in the crowd, Dorian was probably smiling, knowing his "sources" had delivered exactly the battlefield he wanted.
"Well," she said, surprising herself with how steady her voice sounded, "I guess I better prove that my patchwork experience with Dark Ladyship, being and barista-hood, and recently, revolution prophet can win even when the game is rigged against us."
"That's my girl," Cordelia said approvingly, and before Mo could react, the dragon gave her a sharp pat on the backside that made several nearby students gasp. "What?" Cordelia asked innocently. "It's a dragon thing. We're very physical about encouragement."
"That's assault," Mo said, her face burning.
"That's motivation," Cordelia corrected cheerfully. Then, loud enough for the entire hall to hear: "Fifty soul slivers says Nightshade takes first place!"
"I'll take that bet," Dorian's voice rang out. "A hundred says she doesn't make it past task two."
"Make it two hundred," Cordelia shot back. "Unless you're not confident in your 'sources'?"
The hall erupted in speculation and side bets. But Mo wasn't listening anymore. Her eyes had found Emily across the crowd, standing next to the Academy's faculty. The researcher gave her the slightest nod—encouragement and warning combined.
Tomorrow, everything would change. Again. The Tournament would begin, the System would accelerate its spread, and Mo would have to prove that her reforms could survive direct challenge.
Three weeks of preparation came down to this.
She really should have finished that paper on servant uprisings. At least then she'd have notes.
***
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
The morning of the Tournament's opening arrived with all the subtlety of a dragon landing on a glass roof. Mo woke to find her dormitory window covered in frost patterns that spelled out "GOOD LUCK TO US ALL" in what was definitely Lucian's handwriting, while someone—probably Nyx—had slipped a note under her door that simply read "Remember: if you can handle pre-exam rush at a coffee shop, you can handle anything. P.S. We'll turn this house upside down!"
She appreciated their mutual support, even if comparing demonic academic trials to caffeine-deprived customers felt like comparing decapitation to a paper cut. At least they were all facing this together—not just her reforms being tested, but Lucian's progressive ice magic philosophy and Nyx's fluid approach to identity and power. The Tournament seemed to challenge all of that.
The Great Hall had been transformed overnight. Where normally stood rows of tables for meals and study, tiered seating now rose in concentric lines around several platforms that hummed with barely contained magic. The space above flickered with viewing portals—apparently, the Tournament had interdimensional viewership. Nothing quite like having your potential failure broadcast across multiple realities.
"Nervous?" Valerius asked, appearing at her elbow.
"About which part? The Tournament where we're all being evaluated like specimens, or the fact that half the Council seems to have personal vendettas against various students?" Mo accepted the coffee he offered—real Earth coffee, bless him. "Where did you even get this?"
"Lucian may have mentioned you'd need it. He also suggested I tell you that 'winter remembers those who weather its storms,' which I assume is meant to be encouraging. Frosty just can't stop amazing me with his metaphors. But he's particularly stressed about Task Three and Four—apparently ice magic has issues in situations of ambiguity."
"And Nyx?"
"Convinced that Task Two will be rigged against shapeshifters. Something about 'diplomatic scenarios always assuming fixed identity.' They're probably right."
The hall filled rapidly. Students claimed seats according to complex social hierarchies that Mo would prefer to pretend she didn't fully understand. But of course she did. She was tutored to be a Dark Lady from the moment she muttered her first word: "no." And the Dark Lord was quite excited by his daughter's strong resolve at that moment. He wasn't that happy during her teenage rebellion phase.
Mo noticed Dorian had positioned himself in the section reserved for "non-participating observers." Close enough to watch everything, far enough to maintain plausible deniability if things went wrong. Everything seemed to be ready for the invocation traditionally recited by one of the ghosts that had the honor of participating in past Tournaments. Rumor had it that the oldest of the spectral residents had been a student at the Academy during the first-ever Tournament.
The air shimmered, and Lady Thornheart materialized at the center of the platform. This year, fate or perhaps deliberate choice had selected their Victorian dormitory guardian.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and beings of indeterminate categorization," Lady Thornheart's ghostly voice echoed through the space.
The hall erupted.
Gasps, protests, and outraged whispers rolled through the crowd like a wave. Several students actually stood up in protest. One elderly demon in the viewing gallery shouted: "BLASPHEMY!" before being hushed by his companions.
"WHAT did she just say?" someone near Mo hissed.
"She can't just change the opening invocation!"
"That's been the same for eight hundred years!"
Nyx, who had been tense with pre-Tournament nerves, suddenly went completely still. Their form solidified in a way Mo had rarely seen—not shifting, not adapting, just... being. Exactly as they were.
"She said it," Nyx whispered, their voice carrying a mix of shock and something that might have been hope. "She actually said it. In front of everyone."
Lady Thornheart waited for the noise to die down, her ghostly form somehow projecting stern patience. When she spoke again, her voice carried a weight that suggested this was no casual addition.
"The traditional invocation has served for centuries," she said, her antiquated propriety intact but edged with something new—perhaps the trauma of Julian's betrayal, perhaps the influence from Mo and her extravagant friends. Lady Thornheart paused again and slowly turned around, pointing her gaze at every person present in the hall, one after another.
"But traditions must evolve when reality itself evolves. When the impossible becomes commonplace, we cannot pretend otherwise. Some among us exist beyond binary categorization. To ignore this is to ignore reality itself. The 847th Tournament of Practical Villainy will now commence."
The silence that followed was deafening. Then, from somewhere in the upper tiers, came a single slow clap. Then another. Soon, a scattered but growing applause spread through the younger students.
"First time in Tournament history," Valerius murmured. "She just made you part of the official record, Nyx."
High Council members materialized on an elevated platform—thirteen figures in robes that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Only thirteen, as had been traditional since the Feast of the Void two millennia ago, when dragons from the three dominant Houses had devoured one hundred twenty-seven Council members who'd attempted to contest draconic supremacy. Ever since, the full Council only gathered in their own pocket dimension, where even dragons couldn't breach the protective wards.
Mo recognized some of her previous interrogators, but others were new. One in particular caught her attention: shrouded entirely in what looked like living shadow, with only hints of... something... moving beneath the darkness.
"Is that from House…" she started to whisper to Nyx.
"The Synthesis Collective," they confirmed quietly. "Nobody knows what they actually look like. Some say they exist partially outside normal reality."
Professor Malvolia stepped forward, her voice carrying that particular academic authority that could make even dragons pay attention. "This year's Tournament will test practical application of villainous principles in our rapidly changing multiverse. As often happens, Tasks have been designed to reflect the current challenges facing our society."
Several students glanced at Mo. She kept her expression neutral, though her magic stirred restlessly under her skin.
"Participants will be evaluated on effectiveness, adaptability, and… innovation." Malvolia's tone suggested she'd had to fight for that last part. "Success will be measured not just by completion, but by the long-term sustainability of solutions."
The shrouded Council member shifted slightly, and Mo felt something brush against her consciousness—not invasive, just... present. Like being observed by something that could see more than just surface reality.
"The first task," Malvolia continued, as the central platform transformed into what looked like a diplomatic receiving chamber, "will test crisis management and negotiation skills under fire."
Magical projections flickered to life, showing a scenario that made Mo's stomach drop:
A throne room where servant species—goblins, brownies, kobolds—stood armed with newly manifested magical abilities, facing off against traditional demon lords. Between them, cowering human dignitaries who'd been caught in the crossfire of what the projection labeled as "The Westborough Uprising - Day 3." One after another, similar projections flickered all over the hall before being randomly moved to float in front of a different student.
"Each participant," Malvolia explained, "will be assigned the role of emergency negotiator. You have one hour to restore order, establish temporary accords, and create a foundation for lasting stability. The scenario will respond to your choices with historically accurate reactions based on similar events."
"Historically accurate," Nyx muttered. "Meaning if we fail, the simulation will show us exactly how much property damage and profit loss occurs. In vivid detail. That's even worse than those documentaries in ultra-high-definition about the meat industrial complex you showed me on Earth."
"Points will be awarded for: territory retained, productivity restored, long-term revenue stability. Points will be deducted for: resource losses, damaged infrastructure, and solutions requiring excessive ongoing maintenance costs."
Mo noticed several conservative students looking relieved. They had to be elated that the scoring system still focused on practical outcomes—maintaining control and profit margins. The plague of the new approaches and frameworks didn't seem to reach the designers of the Tournament.
"Furthermore," Malvolia added, and Mo could swear she saw a hint of satisfaction in her expression, "each scenario has been modified with current creeping magical spread parameters. The servant species in your simulations will have newly acquired abilities matching currently observed patterns."
The section of the hall where Dorian was seated erupted in whispers. Nobody seemed to be prepared for servants who could damage valuable property with magic—or worse, organize coordinated work stoppages that could cripple quarterly earnings. The old method of simply replacing dead workers wouldn't cut it if they could fight back effectively enough to destroy infrastructure.
"This is economic terrorism," someone muttered. "They're forcing us to negotiate with property."
"Property that can now burn down your estates," another student pointed out pragmatically. "They are just making us face the cruel reality. Very villainous of them."
"Participant assignments will now be distributed."
A golden envelope materialized in front of Mo. She opened it to find her scenario: "The Ashworth Territories. A Goblin union leader with undisclosed magical abilities has taken the Duke's family hostage to negotiate centuries of unpaid wages."
Of course. Of course, they'd give her something that basically recreated her own experience at Blackthorn Keep, but with higher stakes and an audience.
"Contestants have fifteen minutes to prepare before entering their scenarios," Malvolia announced. "Remember: these simulations draw from real magical contracts. Agreements reached within them carry binding weight in principle, if not in practice. Consider your negotiations carefully."
As the students scattered to prepare, Mo felt shivers running up and down her spine. Cordelia had moved to position herself near enough to talk while maintaining an appropriate distance not to draw attention.
"Interesting how they're using real contract magic for simulations," she said quietly, pretending to review her own envelope. "We didn't have that in previous Tournaments. You know that I have years of experience with that stuff."
"And?"
"And if you make a promise in there that resonates with the audience, the magic might try to hold you to similar principles in reality." Cordelia patted Mo on the cheek as she walked by. "Be careful what precedents you set. With your position at the center of all this drama, they may affect our deal as well. Six weeks run out soon."
Before Mo could respond, Cordelia shifted the gear, and her voice boomed across the hall: "PLACE YOUR BETS NOW! WILL THE HUMAN-LOVING BARISTA CRACK UNDER PRESSURE OR WILL THE CONSERVATIVE DOGMA PREVAIL?"
"Must you?" Mo called out.
"It's called building dramatic tension, my precious. Also, I have significant money riding on you, so don't disappoint. I wasn't allowed to bet on myself, you know. At least not officially." The dragoness winked, then shouted even louder: "CURRENT ODDS: THREE TO ONE AGAINST NIGHTSHADE COMPLETING WITHOUT VIOLENCE!"
The crowd buzzed with excitement and side bets. Mo noticed that even some Council members seemed to be discreetly placing wagers.
"Oh, and participants should note," Malvolia added, as if just remembering, "per Tournament Rule 247, subsection C: The Pacifist Nullification Clause. Any participant who completes all Tournament tasks without employing direct violence forfeits all preliminary points, including Ball scores. The Tournament tests refined villainy, not just diplomatic finesse."
Mo felt her stomach drop. Her 171 Ball points—gone if she didn't use violence at least once.
"THAT'S HIGHWAY ROBBERY!" Nyx shouted before catching themselves. "I mean... interesting traditional rule."
Cordelia's grin turned shark-like. "Oh, this is fun! NEW BETS! NEW BETS! Who thinks the pacifist will crack? I'm giving ten-to-one odds she won't make top three without her Ball points!"
"I'll take that bet as well," Nyx said immediately, stepping forward. "Fifty soul slivers says Mo finds a way."
"Your funeral," Cordelia laughed, but Mo caught something in her expression—what was her real plan?