Chapter 141: Learning!

The Professor’s voice was a rolling tide of sound, filling every corner of the arena-classroom.

The booming depth of it carried a weight that seemed to dig beneath the skin, threading through bone and blood, until even the most arrogant noble scion sat straight-backed and silent.

“I hope you all enjoyed the demonstration,” The Professor said as he looked particularly at the Human and Elven students who were sitting in attention.

“I know most of you won’t ever go on to use this, but for those that are interested. Remember, Demonic Energy,” he intoned, his words echoing against the obsidian walls,

“is not simply the strength of your blood and talent. It is the act of Dominion. Dominion over self, dominion over others, dominion over the laws of reality that would otherwise bind you. Dominating Mana and transforming it to a more raw, primal form before merging it with your being,”

The arcs of energy twisting from his hands coiled like serpents made of living night, each one burning with faint violet fire. He shifted his palm, and the serpents untangled, dispersing into ribbons of raw demonic essence that wove into sigils above his head.

With another flick, the symbols inverted, folding upon themselves until they burst into tiny stars of red light, which fell gently before vanishing.

Around Albedo, students gasped again, some scribbling in notebooks, others too entranced to move. To them, this was a once-in-a-lifetime demonstration of mastery.

To Albedo, it was information. Patterns. Rules hidden beneath the surface. His Source Code eyes picked out the threads others could not, catching the way resonance shifted in response to intent, how the glyphs weren’t conjured, they were bent into being, forced to obey.

Domination, Albedo thought. That was the true essence of Demonic Energy. Not control in the Human sense, which demanded harmony and balance. This was an authority that commanded, that shaped reality with the absolute conviction of one who believed their will alone was law.

It was a unique method that was not at all explored in the Novel, just another warning to not 100% trust everything he remembered from the original timeline, as there’d be constant changes.

The Professor’s eyes swept the crowd, sharp as blades, his smoldering pupils glowing faintly as his lips curved into the shadow of a smile. “Theory is nothing without practice. You may learn to read sigils, to recite the runes, but in the end, Demonic Energy must bend beneath your hand or it will consume you.”

He raised a hand toward the class, finger extending as he sought a volunteer. There was a beat of tension in the air, nobles stiffening, lesser demons avoiding his gaze, Humans and Elves shrinking slightly into their seats.

And then his voice came, rich and deliberate, “However, I know it may seem a bit unfair that me, someone with hundreds of years of experience is telling you all this so I’ll call upon Princess Nocturna for assistance,”

The arena seemed to shift at the name alone as a murmur rippled through the gathered students, excitement threaded with nervous awe. Heads turned instinctively, most with admiration.

Celeste rose with a predator’s grace, and she moved down the steps with slow, deliberate strides, her spaded tail swaying behind her in measured arcs, her very aura pressing outward.

Some of the younger students flinched as her bloodline’s weight brushed against them, the demonic resonance gnawing at their nerves. Even some of the Elven nobles stiffened, clutching their desks with pale fingers.

Only Albedo leaned back further, lips tugging at the edge in a faint smirk, violet runes dancing faintly in his eyes as he studied her.

The Professor gestured, and the runic circle beneath his feet flared anew. “Show them,” he commanded, voice stripped of ceremony now, sharpened to steel. “Show them what it means when Demonic Energy is mastered.”

Celeste inclined her head, neither deferential nor dismissive, but with the quiet confidence of one who had never once questioned her own dominance. She stepped into the center of the circle, the crimson light etching itself against her skin, and raised a single hand.

At once, the air thickened.

Albedo felt it—the shift in resonance, the subtle yet absolute authority laced into her gesture. She didn’t simply draw Demonic Energy from the circle. She commanded it. The strands bent toward her like loyal beasts answering a summons.

Where the Professor had shown control, Celeste displayed sovereignty.

A sphere of darkness coalesced above her palm, swirling with stars that weren’t light but inverted shadows, each one flickering like dying suns. The shadows bled outward in ribbons, weaving into the shape of wings, vast and angular, spreading wide behind her.

For a moment, she stood like a goddess sculpted from midnight, the echoes of her father’s bloodline undeniable in the sheer force radiating outward.

Gasps turned into shudders. Some students averted their eyes, their instincts screaming at them not to stare into the abyssal construct. Others clutched the arms of their chairs, teeth clenched against the crushing weight pressing on their souls.

Albedo’s Source Code caught every flicker in the weave, every moment where Celeste’s conviction shaped reality. It wasn’t her energy alone that made it possible, it was her unwavering belief, her unshakable refusal to bend.

Demonic Energy manipulation was just as much a test of willpower as it was a test of one’s ability to control the Magic Energy itself.

The Professor’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and proud. “This is Demonic Energy not as tool, not as weapon, but as truth. The Nocturna bloodline’s heritage lies in dominion. And Princess Celeste embodies that truth.”

Celeste’s wings of shadow folded inward, collapsing into the sphere once more before dispersing into harmless mist. She lowered her hand, her expression unchanged, though the golden fire in her eyes lingered, searing into the hearts of all who dared meet her gaze.

When she turned back toward the crowd, silence greeted her. Every word, every thought, had been stolen by the sheer presence of her demonstration.

She walked back up the steps with that same unhurried grace, her aura still pressing faintly at the edges of the room, daring anyone to speak against what they had just witnessed.

~CLAP!~

The Professor clapped his hands, and the runic circle beneath his feet unraveled in a hiss of fading fire, and the oppressive atmosphere lifted like smoke dissipating into air.

The Professor’s hand flicked once, dismissive yet final. “That concludes the demonstration. For your next lessons, I expect each of you to attempt what you saw. Do not misunderstand me, it will be painful. It will be difficult. Some of you may fail outright. But failure is not shameful. Refusing to try is.”

The obsidian gates of the classroom groaned as they opened, runes extinguishing one by one along the high arch. The sharp contrast of the ordinary campus lights outside seemed almost blinding after the spectacle within.

***

Later that night, Albedo’s room was cloaked in shadows, lit only by a single floating crystal that pulsed faintly with cold blue light. The faint murmur of nocturnal winds against the high blackstone windows was the only sound that accompanied him.

Albedo sat cross-legged on the floor, Havoc and Ruin placed carefully at his sides. His hands rested on his knees, palms upward, his posture deceptively relaxed. Inside, his body hummed with a quiet storm.

He had long since mastered the steady circulation of Mana. He could split, compress, and weave it into patterns at will. But this… this was different. The Professor’s words echoed in his mind.

“Demonic Energy is Dominion. Not harmony, not balance. Command.”

Albedo exhaled slowly, narrowing his eyes. He didn’t need balance. He needed control—absolute, undeniable authority.

His Source Code awakened with a flicker, violet runes crawling across his pupils as the world’s framework opened to him.

Lines of resonance, threads of Mana flowing through air, stone, even his own flesh. Normally, he would have bent them gently, coaxed them into spell-forms. But tonight, he reached deeper.

And tore.

The first attempt was immediate chaos. Mana screamed in his veins, lashing out like wild beasts in a cage.

His breath hitched, chest tightening as a raw surge of energy slammed into his skull, threatening to shatter his concentration. His muscles spasmed violently, sweat already beading on his forehead.

He gritted his teeth, forcing the storm inward.

Again, he pulled, but this time with conviction. He imagined his will as chains, heavy and black, sinking into the thrashing current of Mana. The energy writhed, burned, tried to slip free, but Albedo’s mind tightened around it with predatory resolve.

A spark flickered, darker than Mana, heavier. For the briefest instant, he felt it: Demonic Energy. It wasn’t just raw magic. It was hunger, violence, dominance wrapped into flame.

Compared to Mana, it was less versatile, but it provided explosive attack power much stronger compared to regular mana, a suitable tool if he could add it to his arsenal.

His hands trembled, fingertips bleeding faint rivulets where his own nails had dug into skin. A low growl escaped his throat as he anchored the spark, refusing to let it gutter out.

Seconds dragged into minutes, the battle invisible yet fierce. His body felt aflame, his mind splitting against the strain. Yet… slowly, inch by inch, he bent the spark closer to submission.

When his eyes snapped open, twin motes of violet fire burned faintly in his pupils, crackling just enough to sear the edges of the air. The floating crystal above him flickered, dimming in response.

Albedo drew in a sharp breath, chest heaving. The spark faltered, sputtering like an ember in wind, but it did not vanish entirely. It pulsed faintly in his core, unstable yet undeniably there.

A laugh escaped him, low and strained, but triumphant.

Minor success, he thought, flexing his hands as the blood dried against his palms. His entire body hurt, but the fire in his chest burned hotter than any wound.

He leaned back against the wall, letting his head rest against cold blackstone. Sweat dripped down his jaw, his lips curving in a crooked smile.

’Another tool in the arsenal’ was what he thought.

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