The Survival Guide of Hell-Difficulty Characters

Creston stared at Solren as he nonchalantly munched on the cookies in front of him. He glanced at the grandfather clock by the door, brows knotting, annoyance growing by the pendulum's clicks.

"Solren," Creston started, voice low. "You called to meet in the middle of the night. Don't tell me you just wanted free food."

The Grand Magician paused. He lowered the half-eaten cookie, looking up from the plate with a sheepish gaze. "Sorry. I was thinking about how to start."

Creston's frown deepened. He crossed his arms. "Just say what you want to say and leave."

"So," Solren straightened himself, uncaring of his friend's annoyance, "It's about Silas."

Creston raised an eyebrow, "...What did he do this time?"

"Hey, have some more faith in your child." Solren sighed, crossing his arms.

Creston shrugged, "He has a bad history." He tilted his head, expression remaining cold, "If not that, then what is it?"

"...Firstly," Solren pursed his lips, "Are you sure you didn't pick him up from somewhere?"

For a split second, Solren swore he felt murderous intent from Creston's eyes. "I was there when my wife gave birth to him. I'm sure he's mine."

"I'm not accusing anyone of infidelity…" Solren raised his hands in defense, eyes slightly widened, "It's just…Don't you think it's odd? Your bloodline is so deeply rooted in aura, yet it managed to produce a mage. And it's not just any ordinary mage either."

"...He could've gotten it from his mother," Creston shrugged, "Esmeralda's a mage too, remember?"

Solren frowned, "But her mana isn't dense enough." he crossed his arms, tapping his elbow in deep thought, "Goldwyn…Goldwyn…I'm pretty sure they have a history of carrying the witches' bloodline…Do male witches even exist?"

Creston let out a long sigh. "Is this really important? Isn't it good that Silas has high potential as a mage? He's doing better now than in the past."

"Well, it doesn't change anything even if we know the truth," Solren shook his head, "But I still want to find out. If Silas really is a witch, then he could become more than just a successor of the Magic Tower."

Creston frowned, "Wait, you want my son to—"

"Creston, Silas could be the first officially recognized warlock in the empire's history," Solren's eyes sparked with excitement, "Witches have a different way of controlling mana than magicians, and that's what makes them the strongest at magic. Do you know what this implies?"

"No, and honestly I don't care. I never said Silas would suc—"

"Oh, what is it now?" Solren grumbled, throwing his hands in the air, "You let him study magic, but you don't want him to stay in that field? He isn't succeeding you as marquis anyway, why not let him succeed me?"

Creston grounded his teeth, glaring the Grand Mage down. "Dragon of Salvador," he huffed, "That is what Silas will become. He's staying here as a war magician."

Solren scoffed, mockery dripped from his tone. "Did you ask Silas about it? Does he even want to stay here and be his brother's right hand man until the day they both die? No, actually, Silas will outlive him, he's a mage."

"What about you?" Sparks flew between their eyes. "Did my son consent to you appointing him as your successor?"

Solren's expression shifted. Of course not, we never even talked about it. He kept his silence and continued, the smirk on his lips unwavering. "Well, I'm sure he'd prefer a higher position than just the house's war magician."

"Commander." Creston narrowed his eyes, "I'll make him commander of the estate's knights."

"My salary is still higher."

"He doesn't care about money now."

"Insurance."

"What insurance? That doesn't exist in the empire."

Silence fell between them, their glares sending sparks like the foretelling of an incoming storm.

Creston broke the tension with a deep breath. He leaned against the sofa, relaxing, but only for a split second. The moment he looked back up, his eyes gleamed like electricity. "How about we settle this tomorrow?"

Solren's lips broke into a grin, a slight nervous glint flickered across his face. "Are you sure? The academy might be near your territory but for the patriarch to wander around.."

"It is technically work," Creston lifted his chin. Despite his usual stern cold attitude, somehow, he managed to look smug. "And what's wrong with a father checking up on his son?"

Solren squinted, pouting, then sighed when he couldn't find faults in the marquis' logic. "Fine…I'll let Silas know you'll be coming."

"No," Creston shook his head, "I want to see for myself how he's doing. That child's gotten sly lately. I want the truth, not an act."

Solren shrugged, "Fair enough. When will you be coming?"

Creston glanced at the clock, reading the dial: around six minutes past midnight. After a bit of consideration, the marquis stood. Calm. "After sunrise."

Solren's lips twitched, "His lessons in the morning are lectures though, you might have to wait until afternoon to see him use magic."

A beat of silence passed.

"…Then I'll leave a few hours before afternoon." With a stern nod, he strode out of the room.

Solren slid down his seat, letting out a long breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He chuckled to himself, an attempt to calm his nerves. "This is all I can do for you, Silas. Good thing your dad doesn't like lectures."

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•

The sun hung high in the bright, cloudless sky. A gentle breeze brushed through the corridor as Creston Salvador marched down like a soldier headed to war. Students glanced wide-eyed at him as they passed, whispering amongst each other why the Royal Knights Commander would be wandering around the mage's stations.

Creston paid them no mind, his eyes fixed ahead on the path, target already within sight—or within sensing distance. Besides that, he'd already asked Solren where the boy would most likely be.

"He had a group project to work on and told me earlier this morning that they'll start some time during lunch."

Creston spotted Ruelle Peregrine first, standing with a clipboard in her hand, fidgeting with a magical quill in the other. In front of her stood two unfamiliar figures, a ginger boy and a girl with forest-green hair.

And not too far from the group, Silas Salvador had his arms crossed, bright blue eyes cold as ice. Looking closer, Creston noticed the unknown students were averting their gaze away like puppies who got scolded.

"I know you guys weren't good," Silas sighed, his expression unchanging, "But wow. I'm honestly impressed that it was possible to be this bad."

"T-That's because you're too good, Silas." The lady with green hair looked up, attempting to glare through her fears but it died down the moment she met his frigid stare, like an ember extinguished by a blizzard. "Besides, you were the one who couldn't explain things properly."

Ruelle's chuckle drew their attention, "That's true. Silas doesn't know how to chant like a normal person so he's making things harder for everyone else."

Silas opened his mouth, but closed it soon after. He let out a grunt, turning around and faced the rows of trees beyond the field they stood on. Several guards patrolled the forest's borders to make sure no bold or idiotic students tried to wander in without permission. "I'll show you again then. With the magic circle this time."

Creston's eyes went round as he glanced at his own arms, feeling static grow like tiny beasts awakening from their slumber. When he looked back up, an electric blue magic circle flickered into Silas' extended hand.

He shot a bolt of lightning towards the treetops, but it missed.

Or at least he thought it'd missed, until the spear made an unnatural turn and struck a tree with a thunderous 'bang'. Despite the loud explosion, the target had not a single mark on its lush leaves or barks. They only swayed as if a light breeze had swept through.

"…What the fuck?" The green hair girl uttered in sheer disbelief. "That wasn't the spell you casted last time."

"It's a demonstration, Irelia," Silas looked back in nonchalance, "The last spell was a starter, this one is an upgraded version."

"WE DIDN'T EVEN UNDERSTAND THE FIRST ONE!" Irelia dragged her feet over to Ruelle, staring at her with sparkly, pathetic eyes as she pointed at Silas. "Ruelle! He's bullying us!"

"Okay, look," Silas clasped his hands together, tilting them forward with his lips pressed to a line, standing like a teacher who's getting his patience tested. "You start the spell, determine your target, add the modifier, and cast. That's literally all I did."

Irelia stared at Silas with a blank face, then turned to Ruelle, asking for help in silence. Ruelle tilted her head with a sorry smile. "I can't really help you either, since I don't have enough mana to use magic."

Silas faced the ginger boy, who'd been trying to disappear into the silence, but to no avail, "Johan, you try it."

Johan straightened himself stiff. "I'LL DO MY BEST SIR!"

All eyes landed on the boy as he took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. Johan held out one hand, eyes closed in deep focus. When his lips parted, a circle hovered in front of his palm, a ring of typical lightning-gold lights, but empty. "O, whispering storm, let your thunder rend the sky asunder, flicker like ember and strike my enemy!"

Lines traced into a complete sigil and flared with mystical power. A single lightning bolt shot forth, then paused mid-air, vibrated, and exploded into tiny sparks like confetti.

Silence hung like a heavy blanket around the group.

"…Even the spell didn't know what it wanted." Silas sighed, "Well, at least you managed to even form a semblance of a spell. Next time, be certain if you want the attack to be soft or powerful."

"Me next!" Irelia hopped forward, confidence returning to her poise. She clutched two fists beside her, mumbling to herself with a grin. "I got this. I have an example to work with so this should be easy…"

Irelia prepared to cast. Unlike Johan, her circle formed perfectly, shimmering in gilded sparks, "O seeker of light—trace, pierce, echo, bend, sting—"

'WOOSH!'

The circle flickered and vanished all of a sudden, startling Irelia. "What happened?"

"I dispelled it." Silas said as-a-matter-of-factly, expression unreadable.

"What!?" Confusion and awe flickered across Irelia's face, but irritation swiftly replaced it, "Why!? The spell felt good!"

"Yeah, common signs of Mana Exhaustion," Silas said, "The caster feels light, almost euphoric. No clear warnings for the mage until it's too late. I stopped it for you so you're welcome."

Irelia went quiet, lips thinned into a straight line. She turned away, muttering under her breath. "But…how are we supposed to know what incantations are good and what are not?"

"You feel it," Silas opened his palm. An electric-blue magic circle flickered to life, hovering above his hand as it rotated like a turning gear. "Since both of you utilize External Mana Control, it's easier said than done, but the concept is the same."

Twisting his wrist, Silas pointed the circle towards the trees again. Sparks danced between his fingers like energetic serpents waiting to strike. "Hm, I don't know if this will work…" he mumbled, and sucked in a deep breath, "One way to find out."

"Sky's mighty fang—graze the spine and whisper pain with mercy."

A stroke of lightning shot forward, fast, precise, but harmless like winter static. The bolt lingered close, sparking in place as if dancing on air, and vanished soon after.

"Oh, that works," Silas lowered his hand, nodding, satisfied with the result. He turned to meet two pairs of wide, confused eyes. "I casted a soft version of the spell. I kept my incantations short, and gathered only enough mana to create an attack meant to disable. Did you see it clearly?"

Irelia and Johan glanced at each other. Eventually, the former spoke up, "Okay, that was better. But how do we make sure we don't change the spell's strength? We were going to focus on just precision, right?"

"That's where word imagery comes into play," Silas gestured towards Ruelle, and she showed them the clipboard in her hand with a proud smile, "It's not just the sentences used to form a spell, but also how the caster pictures it in their minds. If we combine those two aspects, we can create a spell that only varies in a single aspect."

The clipboard only had a single line written on it: With vision as thy compass, thunder as thy blade. Strike.

Silas read the words in silence, and looked up at Ruelle with a blank face. "Are you really making me say that cringey incantation?"

"What do you mean cringey? It's perfect!" Ruelle exclaimed with confidence. "I debated adding the spell's name at the end too."

"No, actually," Silas snapped his fingers, "Mages usually say the magic's name to solidify its form. I'll try all versions out and see which is better."

'DING~DONG~DING~DONG~~'

"Oh, lunch's over," Irelia turned to the colonnade, where students had already begun making their way to the next class. "What do you guys have next? Mine's Spell Theory."

"I have Magical Engineering next." Johan replied, his eyes shimmering with a hint of excitement, "I heard the Headmaster would be teaching today too."

"Oh, my next class' also Magical Engineering." Ruelle stared at her ID Card. "I'll be going with Johan then."

"Mine's Practical Combat." Silas read the schedule projected from his own card, "Well, I guess this is where we part ways."

"Don't miss me too much, okay?" Ruelle teased with a cheeky grin.

Silas looked away, trying to keep his expression still, "…I won't."

As the group went their separate ways, Creston watched his son stretched lazily before walking to his next class, unaware of his father watching from the distance—

—Until Silas turned, stared him in the eyes from across the field, and gave him the most annoying grin Creston had ever seen.

The marquis let out a sigh as he shook his head, yet couldn't help but smile at how ridiculous he must've looked to the boy.

"I guess I underestimated him too much," Creston turned to the hallway, now empty. "Mage or swordsman, the kid's still my son."