The Villainess is the Villainess [LitRPG]

The tunnels and corridors beneath the Academy formed a labyrinth, and Seraphina and Eloise quickly regretted taking the "shorter" underground route. Even so, after flagging down a few older students for directions, and despite Seraphina's refusal to stoop to anything as undignified as running, they managed to arrive at their destination just in time.

They stepped into a wide, underground but well-lit training hall already bustling with students—an almost even split of boys and girls. Rows of sconces flickered along walls clad in a dull gray substance known as Dullstone, one of the few materials completely non-conductive to Mana. Any spell striking its surface would be, for the most part, harmlessly dispersed. The ceiling was similarly lined with Dullstone, though streaks of gold formed elaborate warding symbols. One carving depicted an epic scene of dragons clashing in the heavens—an illustration of the schism of Wing and Scale that had triggered the First Cataclysm that was nearly the undoing of the world. Part masterpiece, part warning, its meaning could not be missed.

Seraphina fought the urge to grimace as she spotted the silver-haired Este Liza among the other spellcraft students. Though seemingly unharmed by the mob, the so-called Saint of Silver carried a hollow look that brought a smirk to Seraphina's lips—one that quickly vanished when she caught sight of Hugh waving at her from across the room. A flicker of annoyance stirred in her, and with a slight flush, she forced her attention back to the teacher.

Her new instructor stood at the front of the students: a man of average height and dark hair, sporting sideburns along his jaw but neither mustache nor beard. He wore the deep purple robes of a magister, a gold chain of office glinting at his collar.

"You two are late," he said coldly, his rich baritone echoing in the hall.

Seraphina considered pointing out they had arrived precisely on time, but quibbling with him now would only appear petty. So she simply inclined her head with regal grace.

"Those of you who have already received your first spells, raise your hands," the teacher commanded.

Only Eloise and Este Liza raised their hands. Eloise had Earth magic, while Este Liza's full repertoire remained a mystery. If memory served, Seraphina correctly, the original protagonist, Este Lize, could use all forms of magic, a feature that was put in place to give the player maximum choice.

Eloise threw Seraphina a sidelong glance—she alone knew Seraphina could already cast spells.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"For the latecomers," their teacher continued, "I am your instructor, Magister Belfrost. I will not waste my time with anyone who has no wish to walk the path of Mana. Neither will I teach those who only want to learn only of theory. On that table, you will find scrolls of power—Manzaza Shiptu, as they say in Al-Lazar. Choose one. You will pay for it with gold or service. If you refuse, you will have to leave my class."

"What do you mean by service?" called a stocky boy near the back.

"A fair question, Mister Tomarin," the magister stated.

"How did you—" started the boy, but before Tomarin could complete his protest, the Magister plowed on.

"The Academy will accept either five hundred gold pieces or a promise that you create your own scrolls in the future, passing your Gift-Spark on before your Path consumes you."

A murmur spread through the hall. Five hundred Aranthian gold pieces was an astronomical sum for most, even for many of the lesser nobility. Seraphina felt a stir of unease, for five hundred gold pieces would basically wipe out what remained of her allowance from her parents. Around her, students exchanged worried glances.

"Magister Belfrost, sir," ventured a determined-looking commoner, "what do you mean 'consumed by our Path'?"

Seraphina looked at the girl who had questioned the Magister. It was one of the types that "put everything on the line." She could smell the desperation positively reeking from her.

Magister Belfrost's expression turned grim. "Those who walk the path of Mana risk being lured into madness by the very power they hope to control. If your own magic devours you from the inside, that is when your Path has consumed you. Four in five wild Mages meet a rather… dramatic end. But if your will is strong, you can keep Mana under your command. Under my guidance, I believe only one in two will fail." He paused, letting the severity of his words sink in. "There is no shame in refusing this Path," he added quietly, the weight of old regrets behind his eyes. "Let this be your first lesson: Mana is the finest of servants, but the most terrifying of masters."

A boy at the edge of the group shook his head and excused himself, preferring to remain sane and alive. Slowly, others followed suit. A trickle of withdrawals soon became a flood, until only two dozen or so remained.

The Magister surveyed those left behind with a measured smile. "Your resolve—or perhaps your pride—has kept you here. That was our first test. It shows a strength of will, whatever your reasons may be. Grand or petty, it matters not, as long as the will behind it is strong. Good," he nodded with a satisfied huff. "Under my guidance, none of you will succumb to your Path before graduation. The Academy has standards after all."

Even so, his words were hardly comforting. The promise "before graduation" offered little solace for a lifetime of risk, for one could not step off the Path once it was chosen. Seraphina recalled why it was so rare to see truly old mages in Aranthia.

"Now," Belfrost said, sweeping out an arm toward the table of scrolls, "it is time to choose your Path. Choose wisely an aspect that mirrors your soul, that will temper your mind and govern your future."