Demonic Crystal Snake: Know the Enemy, Fear No Battle
If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. There's also the saying about the lion, king of beasts, who gives his all even to catch a single rabbit. I wasn't a lion—I was a snake—but it was the same for me.
Obern Grimoire. Even after learning that the handsome, cool-headed blond hunk was just a clumsy human beneath the facade, it didn't change a thing. I observed him patiently.
The more I thought about it, the better the situation seemed. How could I possibly manipulate a flawless young genius professor—cold-hearted and a magical prodigy—at will?
I shared my honest thoughts with Pellelian.
—It's a bit awkward for me to say this myself, but aren't I the very image that foolish human wished to embody...?
Pellelian asked so seriously that I was caught off guard.
—Even with the fake identity I used in my youth, I was an outstanding member of the Imperial Academy, and I earned my mage qualification just five years after starting magic. Isn't that the exact motif he copied?
'Ah...'
—Yet you treat me so casually without a shred of fear, and I can't fathom why you'd find that uncomfortable.
I had nothing to say. Actually, I had too much to say, but I couldn't bring myself to utter it—that was the problem. If I spoke honestly, Pellelian might get hurt, and if my warm, squishy snake heart was the issue, well, that was an issue indeed.
'Anyway, it's actually a good thing.'
From my observations of Obern Grimoire, his acting skills were phenomenal. If he'd gone into theater instead of magic or academia, he could've been a star. Why waste his talents on the path of a mage?
Whether joining a magic tower or diving into academia like Obern, mages were fundamentally scholars and researchers at heart. Their lifestyles might differ based on temperament, but Obern seemed the ambitious type. It was inevitable.
He was the youngest son of a fallen noble house. His eldest brother died after falling into gambling and getting beaten by thugs. His sister lucked out with a good marriage but cut ties with the family after their downfall. Long after losing their territory, their lavish spending habits didn't fade easily.
Obern's mother collapsed from tuberculosis, and his father drowned himself in alcohol. It was natural that all their hopes pinned on their youngest, the gemstone Obern. Even as a child, his eyes sparkled with cleverness. Anywhere he went, they called him a genius. That's probably when he learned to package himself.
He might've had a glimmer of true genius back then.
'For now, he's a guy who talks to himself a lot!'
Obern often muttered to himself when alone—mostly regrets like "I shouldn't have done that back then." It made him feel relatable, like me.
"I shouldn't have gone abroad to study..."
Obern had left for the Empire to study before he could even grow a beard. That's when his genius started to fade, it seemed. After that, he built a tower of bravado and deception—removing base stones to stack higher ones, stealing others' merits as his own. It was a fake myth propped up by his natural looks, silver tongue, and aura.
Eventually, it reached a point of no return. If even one stone was exposed, his entire tower of a life would crumble. At minimum, prison; at worst, beheading by some power offended by the humiliation.
Fearful of that, Obern Grimoire fled back home like a coward. The professorship at Emerald School was his hope. Even if his knowledge was a bit shallow, it should suffice for teaching young students. Or so he thought.
But a fake life built on lies can't run smoothly. Outwardly perfect, Obern was rotting inside. The young con artist was being eaten away by anxiety—nightmares every night, drowning his fears in booze as soon as darkness fell.
I watched him for a long time, searching for an opening. As a terrifying snake. I would bite that poor con artist's heart and inject my venom.
Days passed in the shadows like that.
One day before evolution's completion.
The night of day 29 since evolution began.
'Become my slave!'
I seized my chance.
* * *
Obern clutched a glass whiskey tumbler made of fine crystal. The amber liquid inside looked like premium whiskey, but it was cheap rum you could buy for a few coins. Oak chips steeped for color and aroma, but it burned sharp as a stab going down.
He drank it.
Faint music and laughter drifted up from downstairs, brushing his ears.
'Yeah, if I just land this professorship...'
But he lacked confidence. What if that Ballarnyar headmaster observed? The superhuman would see through Obern's mask in an instant.
Then it was over. He'd plummet in a flash.
Anxiety surged, and his hand trembled. He dropped the glass without realizing.
It should've shattered with a crack, cheap whiskey soaking the carpet.
But it didn't. The glass froze mid-fall, tilted upright.
Was he hallucinating from the booze? Obern thought so for a moment.
Then the glass floated back up to the desk.
From there, chills were inevitable. A pen on the desk rose, moving on its own to scribble on the notepad.
"Poor, oh poor Grimoire."
His mind snapped alert. If not a hallucination, someone was communicating via writing.
"Run all you want. You'll face disgrace, everything exposed. Death pursues you. Flee to the end, Grimoire."
His breathing grew ragged. Obern slowly inhaled, instinctively acting to hide his panic.
Someone using magic to write? Watching him, maybe eavesdropping.
Obern spoke. "Fearless fool. Who dares threaten me?"
His voice didn't waver—icy arrogance, the perfect genius tone. No one stayed calm hearing it.
But then—the window shuddered, wind howled everywhere, papers flew.
Pararararak! It sounded like laughter. The whole room mocking his act.
"Hahaha, scared little bird, Grimoire. But your act fools only humans. I prophesy: until the day you die, deceiving others will end with your head on the block, wretchedly."
Normally, Obern could've kept composed. He'd worn the mask calmly before court nobles and the imperial court.
But not now. Someone knew his secrets. Unlikely in this kingdom, not the Empire. Not human? A demon piercing his lies, mocking him?
Obern barely suppressed his tremor. "...Who are you."
"That which crawls in darkness. White and black. Controller of magic arts. Defier of the heavens."
Ah. He clenched his trembling hand.
Someone toying with him via magic, rationally. Animate Object spell? Transparent Hand gripping the pen? No, too basic. Telekinesis from afar? Then scrying or listening devices—bugs or rats as familiars.
Obern's mind raced. Only one sure counter: block magic.
He had artifacts for that—lacking confidence in his own power, he obsessed over them. Twisting a cubic artifact split it into four. He scattered the pieces to the room's corners.
Roll roll— A barrier against mana interference. Short-lived, but outsiders couldn't scry, control familiars, or animate objects through it.
But.
Scratch scratch— The pen mocked him anyway.
"Then, see you in hell. Obern Grimoire."
"You—who are you! Demon?!"
The pen dropped, lifeless. No reply.
Terror gripped Obern. The room held only him and the recently acquired crystal snake taxidermy.
He downed the dregs of cheap rum, burrowed under the covers, and shivered himself to sleep.
He woke staggering from a splitting hangover. The desk bore last night's note intact.
"Then, see you in hell. Obern Grimoire."
Demonic scrawl. No dream.
Obern felt the urge to flee. But where? No refuge in Empire or kingdom.
Tomorrow was his interview. Preparations needed—magic reagents to buy.
He hurriedly dressed. Looking sharp again, but the shadows under his eyes lingered, adding a decadent allure.
Packing haphazardly, he left the hotel room, checked out at the lobby.
"Um, any issues during your stay...?"
"...Tch."
He could only glare at the clerk.
Suitcase in hand, he wandered aimlessly. Guards too lax for inns—had to go to a cheap one.
This time, he was careful no one followed. Blending into crowds, he reached the river, stopping at an inn with a tavern downstairs.
He demanded entry: "Single room, corner one. If the next room's free, I'll pay for both."
"Uh..."
The serving girl gaped. A noble-looking hunk in a dump like this? Natural shock.
"No rooms?"
"N-no, we have!"
Stuffing his bags inside, he emerged. He checked windows and ceiling first, setting magical defenses. No eavesdropping or remote spells from outside.
Staggering out, he headed for the magic reagent shop... Items for tomorrow...
Thud.
Someone bumped him. Tall as Obern, brown hair, cocky smile, slightly droopy eyes.
"Obern?"
"..."
"It's Obern Grimoire!"
In front of the reagent shop. Odds of meeting an Empire study buddy?
"You bastard... So it is you."
"...Covent?"
"Covent? Haha."
And that buddy knowing his bluster and secrets? Slim indeed.
"Call me Lord Covent. Forgot after all this time?"
"..."
"Was shocked hearing you became a full academy member. Haha, bribes?"
Instead of answering, Obern probed: "'Is you,' what does that mean?"
"Voice changer too, huh."
Covent said, "Heard you're applying for Emerald prof. I applied too."
"..."
"Perfect. So glad."
That phrase echoed.
"See you in hell, Obern Grimoire."
Truly, in one night, Obern felt plunged into hell.
"Let's catch up over drinks! Heh heh."
Covent slung an arm over his shoulder. Obern stumbled, dragged along.
* * *
Evolution day 30.
Ten minutes left.
Peering into the translucent crystal before, it writhed like a red blob. Not anymore. Per Pellelian, blood still clung, but the body was complete.
During completion, I burned demonic essence to evolve a few skills alongside. I was stronger now.
Just break the crystal and emerge.
'A truly demonic snake.'
—Yeah, yeah.
'How was my acting?'
—Is writing words 'acting'? Whatever.
Even swords spar lightly. Imagination's the best graphics engine, right?
Last night's full-throttle performance had Obern utterly terrified.
The Malphas parchment I'd brought. Time to contract Obern Grimoire with it.
'Shaken him once—negotiations should go smoother.'
I'd rattled him using days of intel. Fearing me, he wouldn't underestimate my small size.
—Not enough. To truly enslave, shatter his mind and reason.
'On second thought, full enslavement might be a bit...'
—Weak talk!
'Uh, why hasn't this guy come back?'
Topic change, but it bugged me. Midnight already—dark outside, rain pouring.
Rumble— Thunder too. Rough night. Out drinking all night? Worrying this snake.
Crack!
Lightning and thunder as the door burst open. Startled me.
Of course, it was Obern returning. Soaked head to toe, no umbrella.
Squelch, squelch into the room. Slammed the door, dropped to his knees.
"Are you watching me now... demon...?"
What? Acting again? He clutched his head, bowing low on his knees, sobbing.
"Am I truly fallen to hell, as you said?"
Something off. Pellelian noted:
—Blood. On his hands.
'Gasp!'
Obern returned bloodied. No wounds on him—someone else's?
"I killed him. Yeah, I killed Covent."
He muttered through tears.
Covent who...?
"Had to kill him!"
Crack! Thunder roared. Pellelian cackled.
—Don't know details, but...
His tone slithered slyly.
—Now's the moment. When he must sell his soul to a demon!
Evolution complete in 5... 4, 3, 2, 1.
I lifted the pen with Transparent Hand.
Crack.
Simultaneously, cracks spiderwebbed the crystal encasing me.
Demonic serpent, descending.