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{Chapter: 80: A New World}
A few more days passed.
The city had grown noisy again—traders calling out wares from makeshift stalls, mercenaries swaggering down the cobblestone streets, and beggars weaving between shadows. Dex sat by a wide, cracked window in a third-floor inn, watching the lazy dust motes drift through amber sunlight.
He exhaled slowly, tasting the hint of spice and ash that always seemed to linger in the air. This was a city teetering between chaos and civility—his kind of place.
He casually waved off the Naga who had been following him around like a lost puppy for the past few days. She had clung to him with persistence, eating his meals, wrapping herself around him at night, and whispering soft nonsense in an attempt to flatter her way into his good graces. It was almost amusing, if not slightly pathetic.
Her long, serpentine body shimmered in the dim light as she gave him one last lingering look, perhaps hoping he would change his mind. But Dex simply turned away, not even bothering to offer a farewell. She slithered out of the room in silence.
He had already forgotten her name—if he had ever bothered to ask.
With her gone, silence finally reclaimed the space.
Dex closed his eyes and leaned against the back of the chair, exhaling as he let his mind slip away. His consciousness sank deep into the dark void, into the infinite dream-space connected by the Abyssal Contract—a realm of chaos and energy where desires, deals, and sacrifices flowed in endless streams.
This time... it's different.
He could feel it immediately—more choices, more offerings. Dozens of summoning signals flickered across his awareness like glowing embers in a black sea. The energy was richer, more chaotic. Some summoners had offered up grotesque beasts, rare minerals, shimmering arcane relics, and otherworldly totems whose purpose even Dex couldn't identify.
Perhaps they were powerful spellcasting materials. Perhaps they were worthless. It didn't matter.
Souls, he thought, smirking to himself. They're always the most reliable currency.
Dex's attention drifted toward a particular summoning that pulsed with vibrant red—an offering of pure soul energy, sacrificed in large numbers. Even though he didn't know who or what these souls once were, their scent was intoxicating. He reached for the connection.
Let's see where this goes.
With a snap of thought, his essence dove through the twisting corridor of the summoning channel. It was like falling through a vortex of blood and stars, the air sharp with the taste of steel and sulfur. Time passed strangely in this tunnel of magic.
This world's further away, he noted, irritated. Last time, I arrived in ten seconds. Now it's already been thirty... maybe more.
He floated there, surrounded by swirling lights and distant whispers, travelling incalculable distance at calculable speeds, his mind already preparing contingencies. Better not walk into a trap. Let's stick to the routine.
Before his true self arrived, he projected a fraction of his consciousness—an avatar—through the veil to scout ahead, cloaked and undetectable.
---
Meanwhile, in a remote fortress nestled deep within snowy mountain ranges...
Dozens of mages, researchers, and warriors gathered inside a stone ritual chamber etched with glowing sigils. Arcane torches flickered along the walls, casting long shadows that danced with every heartbeat.
Standing at the center of the summoning circle was Hawthorne Shield, a tall man in an obsidian robe lined with crimson thread. His golden eyes betrayed no fear, only the arrogance of someone convinced of their brilliance.
He stared down at the sigils and the sacrifices still steaming from magical combustion—bones, soul fragments, and rare beasts blood. This ritual was not from his world. He had recovered the ancient formula from the ruins of a long-dead civilization, rumored to have trafficked in demoncraft.
This was his first attempt.
Behind him stood rows of acolytes and instructors from the academy, all chosen to witness the birth of something never seen. They whispered among themselves, unsure whether to be afraid or hopeful.
The air suddenly turned heavy. The summoning circle glowed red, then pulsed as if alive. Something was answering the call.
I did it, Hawthorne thought, struggling to keep the smug smile from his face. Now... let's see if the stories were true.
With a sudden blast of blood-red flame, the space at the center of the summoning circle twisted like a whirlpool. The fabric of reality tore open, revealing a shimmering portal lined with screaming light.
From the burning gate stepped a figure—tall, powerful, and terrifying.
He wore armor that looked alien to their world, fused to his body like a second skin. Red-hot veins glowed beneath the plating, with beautiful flowers design all over the body, and where his eyes should have been were slits of smoldering amber.
Dex had arrived.
A ripple of terror passed through the onlookers. Many staggered backward. A few of the weaker instructors nearly collapsed, their bodies reacting instinctively to the presence of something far beyond them.
They tried to steel themselves. Some called on protective magic. Others gripped staves and blades. But none dared to attack. Not yet.
Dex ignored them.
His gaze fell immediately on the man nearest to the summoning circle—his summoner.
Dex stepped forward slowly, boots leaving scorch marks on the stone floor. He tilted his head slightly, scanning the human's features. While the man had the scent of a human, there was something... off. Alien. His blood whispered of forbidden things. Mutations, perhaps. Or ancient bloodlines.
The summoning ritual's constraints hummed around Dex like invisible chains. This contract was different—more binding, more legitimate.
'No rampages this time,' he thought.
Then, aloud, his voice like distant thunder, he asked:
"What is your purpose in summoning me?"
Hawthorne looked up into the demon's blazing eyes and smiled with a composure born of ambition rather than courage.
"I need you to protect my academy for a hundred years."
Dex blinked.
Silence stretched between them.
Even the flames of the summoning circle seemed to hesitate.
"...Protect?" Dex repeated, his brow twitching slightly. He blinked again, this time more slowly, as if trying to understand whether the man was serious or just completely insane.
"You want me—a demon—to guard your school?"
Hawthorne nodded, unfazed. "Correct. Is there a problem?"
Dex stared at him in disbelief.
It was like watching a peasant ask a volcano to light their stove. He couldn't decide whether to laugh, crush the man, or applaud his stupidity.
A demon as a protector? That's like hiring a wild wolf to babysit lambs.
He turned his head slightly, considering the absurdity. "That's... not how this usually goes."
But then, his eyes slid toward the offerings piled beside the circle—dozens of soul fragments, glowing orbs of raw power, enchanted artifacts, and other deliciously corrupt treasures.
His irritation melted into thoughtfulness.
Well... a job is a job. If the pay is right...
After precisely 0.3 seconds of hard contemplation, Dex, still towering within the crackling bloodfire gate, tilted his head slightly and addressed Hawthorne Shield: "I need to ask you two questions before I can make my decision."
Though somewhat puzzled by the demon's request, Hawthorne—ever composed—nodded.
"You may ask," he replied with a calm, almost academic demeanor.
To him, this was nothing more than a formality. The summoning had been a resounding success, and Dex, with his overwhelming presence and otherworldly armor that resembled living metal, appeared the perfect candidate. Besides, the ritual was backed by a binding contract forged with the Abyss itself. Revocation was impossible.
Facing the man who seemed quite pleased with himself, Dex posed his first question, his voice steady but layered with the weight of aeons:
"Do you have any records, folklore, or written history regarding demons in this realm?"
Hawthorne blinked once, then shook his head.
"No. In truth, I only learned of your kind through the summoning ritual—a relic from an ancient civilization, acquired through an arcane trade."
Dex internally sighed.
'No wonder this idiot thought making a demon his school's security guard was a brilliant idea.'
He nodded, satisfied that the world had no preconceptions about his kind. That meant fewer limitations, more room to maneuver.
"Very well," Dex said. "Second question—this 'academy' you mentioned... What exactly is it?"
Hawthorne straightened up a little, as if proud of what he was about to declare.
"Silent Heart Academy," he said with reverence, "is a secluded institution for the training and development of wizards. We focus on advanced spellcraft, magical theory, planar studies, body manipulation and soul manipulation, among other disciplines. It is one of the few bastions left where knowledge is passed down without interference from empire, cult, or council."
Dex raised an eyebrow.
'Wizards... So, a subspecies or offshoot of mages?'
He could smell the dense magical residue clinging to Hawthorne like perfume, and although some terms were unfamiliar, he already had a mental framework forming. After all, Dex had never been taught magic formally. Everything he knew had come through inherited memories and relentless experimentation in isolation. He was a scholar of blood, stone, and flame—a self-made abyssal sorcerer.
"In that case," he finally said, "I understand the situation."
Then, as his golden eyes narrowed slightly, he added: "But I have one condition. I want access to your academy's knowledge. In return, I'll offer what I have—my own understanding of Abyssal craft, planar architecture, combat spells, and whatever else might interest your students or staff. Let's consider it a trade."
Hawthorne hesitated for a breath, not because he feared the exchange, but because knowledge was currency—perhaps the only currency that mattered to wizards. Still, his pragmatic nature won out. If Dex truly had insights from the Abyss, they could prove invaluable.
"I accept your condition," he said at last. "If you can pay the price, the archives are open to you."
A moment later, the final glyph in the summoning circle lit up with a black-gold glow, and the contract was sealed.
Thus, the pact was made.
*****
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