Ha… ha ha ha ha ha…
That laughter again. It echoed from every corner of the great hall. Each sneer. Each cackle. Each whisper cutting into me like knives dulled by repetition.
I, Rachel Forge—daughter of Tom Forge, the Emperor's Blade, the strongest human alive—was being laughed at. Mocked like a stray dog in the mud.
Their scorn burned hotter than any fire.
I turned to the instructor at the front of the hall. Surely he'd say something. Do something. Anything.
But he looked away. Cold. Distant.
I wasn't just another student. I was a Forge. My father's shadow loomed over this academy like a sword suspended by a thread. No one dared insult me openly... so they laughed instead.
And I couldn't take it anymore.
Fingers trembling, curling into the folds of my dress, I turned and ran.
I didn't stop to think. I didn't care how far the path stretched, how many towers the academy had. I just ran—my footsteps hammering against polished stone, echoing through the grand corridors like the beating of a drum before execution.
They watched me go. But no one followed.
No one ever does.
I flew past classrooms filled with whispering nobles, empty dueling chambers lined with mana-scorched stone, and halls too grand for a girl like me. Marble pillars blurred past, statues of legendary mages leering down like judges. But I didn't stop.
Not until I reached the back exit.
I burst out into the fading light, the cold wind slapping against my face as I sprinted toward the woods behind the academy—an ancient, fenced-off section no student was allowed to enter.
But I had been here before.
I knew the path.
Along the way, I passed by a puddle, and for a fleeting moment, my reflection looked back at me. A beautiful woman stared from the rippling water—her long golden-blonde hair falling in soft, silken waves that brushed her shoulders and flowed down her back.
I had a F cup chest which equaled to 90cm.
A delicate ornament rests gently in my locks, a subtle accent that adds to the refinement I've grown so used to wearing.
My eyes, a pale shade of violet-blue, often reflect a wistfulness I cannot quite hide. They're framed by long lashes, giving my gaze that dreamy, distant quality—like a doll caught between worlds.
My skin is pale, flawless, almost ethereal. It lends me a certain stillness, an aristocratic air that others often remark upon in hushed tones.
I wear a gown woven from elegance and memory—a rich reddish-brown fabric trimmed with black lace and embroidery, the bodice adorned with intricate lacework that tells its own quiet story. Strands of luminous white pearls drape across my chest, and at the center of my collarbone glows a single radiant gem, warm and alive with purpose.
Black gloves embrace only half of my hands, a detail I've always favored. They are a symbol—of restraint, of poise, and of battles fought in silence.
Past twisted trees and overgrown roots, through thick fog and silence untouched by magic. I reached the edge of a cliff, hidden behind a bramble and shadow.
There it stood—Runo's Hut.
A forgotten ruin whispered about in older students' rumors. No one remembered who Runo was, or why his hut remained. No one except me.
I rebuilt it. Stone by stone. Book by stolen book.
It became my sanctuary. My cage.
I slipped through the creaky wooden door and collapsed onto the floor, heart still racing, hands shaking.
For a few minutes—maybe more—I just lay there.
Breathing. Hating. Burning.
My eyes wandered to the shelf I'd scavenged from the ruins. One book in particular pulled at me. Worn, sealed with a symbol I didn't recognize.
I reached for it—not to learn, but to escape.
The pages were yellowed, ink faded, full of symbols no sane person should recognize. Diagrams. Circles. Rituals long buried by time.
I lost myself in the writing.
Afternoon bled into evening. Seven bells rang. I had missed dinner. Missed roll call. I missed everything.
But I didn't care.
Why would I? There was no one here. No judging eyes. No cruel family. No Forge blood to shame me.
Only silence.
They all expected me to surpass my father.
Instead, they want to erase me.
There are more than a hundred members of the Forge family, I thought bitterly. And yet I'm the only one who can't use magic.
No mana since birth. Not a flicker. While other children awakened at six, I never did. Not even Father—who could split mountains—knew why.
Assassination attempts. Poisoned tea. "Accidents" during sparring.
My life had become a series of survival trials.
Today was just another reminder. Another push.
Another reason to either keep going… or end it.
Sighing, I stood to leave. But something shifted.
A book fell from the top shelf—just slightly. I caught the motion.
Dust coated its leather cover. A sigil on the spine glowed faintly red.
I picked it up.
Demonic Summoning and Contractual Offerings
Interesting…
I flipped it open, whispering aloud:
"Demons must not be summoned lightly. They demand purpose. They demand payment. They are not kind, nor cruel. They are… fair. In the way predators are."
Fair? Are you kidding me?
I laughed under my breath and closed the book halfway.
"Even if I summoned one... what could I offer?"
My voice turned hollow.
"I'm nothing."
I tucked the book under my arm and moved to the door.
Most students summon familiars—spirit-beasts that amplify magic. Safe, reliable, and loyal.
Not me. No mana. No bond. No chance.
Just as I gripped the door handle, a crash echoed behind me.
The hut's window shattered inward.
I froze.
Two shadowy figures stepped inside. Cloaked. Hooded. Eyes glowing like embers under black veils.
"Assassins…" I whispered.
One smirked. "Your family paid well to have you gone, little Forge."
The other added, "But someone else paid more."
"I'll triple it," I said, trying to sound brave. "Just leave."
They laughed.
"A blonde beauty with skin like snow and no magic?" said one. "What a waste of such a powerful bloodline. But still… a prize."
I bolted out the back door.
My sanctuary became my battlefield. I sprinted through tight paths, triggering hidden traps I had long prepared. Smoke, wires, fake walls.
But they were trained. Precise.
One bent down, picked up a pebble, and with a flick of glowing green mana—
CRACK!
Pain burst through my leg. I collapsed.
I screamed—more from fury than fear. No one would come.
I didn't expect rescue.
But I wouldn't die like this.
Dragging myself through roots and dirt, I reached the old summoning chamber—once used by upperclassmen for binding trials.
In the center: a faded circle of broken runes.
I flipped the book open. Hands trembling. Vision blurring. With a shard of chalk, I redrew the circle—shaky, cracked, but whole. Blood was needed.
I brought my thumb to my mouth—ready to bite—
Too late.
A hand gripped my hair and yanked me back.
"End of the line, little Forge."
The other stepped forward. "Shame to kill a girl this pretty. Maybe we'll have a bit of fun first."
Disgust twisted my face.
I spat on his face.
The next second, a punch exploded across my jaw. Blood pooled in my mouth.
But I smiled through the pain.
And let that blood fall into the center of the circle.
Their expressions froze. Then turned to horror.
The summoning circle pulsed once.
Twice.
Then—
Silence.
Nothing.
A beat passed.
Then they laughed again.
"Ha ha ha! Did she really think this would work?"
"Oh gods, she actually tried summoning a demon!"
But then…
Pressure.
Crushing. Ancient. Suffocating.
The air thickened. The floor shook.
The wind swirled backward, as if all the mana in the world was being pulled into that single point—the summoning circle.
BOOM.
A shockwave exploded outward. Silent. Violent.
For twenty seconds, the entire forest turned monochrome.
Color vanished. Sound died.
Then, everything reversed.
Color returned. The air trembled. Shadows bent unnaturally toward the circle.
And slowly, all that darkness condensed…
into a singular form.
The form of a—
_______________________________________
To be continued...
(By: "Risinh-Corruption!")
[Total words: 1,366]