Revamp (IV)

  [The calibration of the Flameweaver skill is now complete.]

  A wave of electrical impulses surged through Cyril’s brain, accompanied by Aria’s robotic voice, flooding his mind with a complete set of instructions. Is this what it feels like to awaken an extra skill the normal way? He hadn’t even activated it yet, but somehow, he already knew what it did—like the knowledge had been hardwired into his instincts.

  [Alert. The recalibration process has increased your affinity index and allowed a slight modification to be made to your new skill. The skill has undergone a change in its operation and will now be designated as 'Niflheim.' It is fully operational and ready for use.]

  Even though he hadn’t actually tried the skill yet, he immediately understood her implication.

  You altered the skill’s function? You can do that? Cyril asked telepathically, resisting the inward urge to shout.

  [Affirmative. A monster core is a preserved record of a monster's essence, encased in a manite shell. When deviants absorb the mana contained within these cores, they adopt the monster's cognitive signature, which trains their affinity index and allows them to manipulate mana as the monster once did, thus replicating their skills. As an assistant integrated within your consciousness, I can guide how your body absorbs and processes certain cognitive inputs, allowing me to slightly influence their function. This method is only viable with skills stored in monster cores, as unlike unique skills, they do not arise from your subconscious.]

  I’m not sure if I should be impressed or terrified you can do that at any time, but I get the gist of it. For now, let’s show the principal what this thing can do.

  [Notice. You do not have anything to worry about, Cyril. My calculations have deemed it as a necessity for the time being.]

  “Hm? Aren’t you going to attack? All that aura will go to waste if you don’t put it to use you know.” Olivia announced, casually observing the white shroud of power condensing and compressing back onto her opponent’s form.

  “Sorry for the wait Principal, I’m ready now.” Cyril’s tone was different, it sounded heavier, charged by an unseen force as if his entire body was brimming with power.

  “Haah...” he exhaled heavily, and riding the coarseness of that breath was something unusual— flames. A swirl of dancing white light spiraled around his mouth, flickering into the air like the last embers of a dying candle.

  Olivia’s eyes narrowed with intrigue.

  “Congratulations on acquiring your first skill. As your principal, it makes me proud to see the growth of my students.”

  A white shroud of flames erupted from Cyril's forearm, compressing to fit its span like a burning glove. Suppressing the maleficent surge of power eager to be unleashed, he shifted his stance and wound his arm back like a pitcher on the field.

  He responded to Olivia’s proud remark with neither gratitude nor grace— his reply was different. It was the kind of thing exclusive to the battlefield—an invocation.

  Uttering a simple phrase, Cyril swung his crackling forearm forward with herculean might.

  “Niflheim; Activate.”

  It happened then—a flashfire wave of ivory destruction erupted from Cyril’s right hand. The spiraling cone of white, sizzling embers ruthlessly rippled towards the smiling Principal and enveloped everything in her general direction. There was no explosion —only the low, oppressive hiss of pressure escaping, like steam bleeding from the cracks of a sealed chamber. That in itself wasn’t very strange, but one could only gauge the true peculiarity of these flames by being in close proximity to them.

  To sum it up, the white flames produced no heat.

  Based on the dispersal of the embers scattered across the floor, his attack definitely connected with something before it ultimately lost its form and collapsed into a simple heap of white fire, but Cyril’s expression showed no signs of change. From the beginning he’d known that such an attack had no chance of ever working against her, the attempt itself was little more than a flashy move meant to get her attention.

  And that it did.

  “What an interesting ability you’ve developed Cyril. I’ve never seen anything like this before—these flames, they’re not hot at all.”

  The flickering white curtain parted and the S-rank, Olivia Dawkins emerged completely unscathed. Not a hair on her head nor the hem of her clothes had suffered any damage, thanks to the thin, translucent ball of light encasing her.

  “I figured.” Cyril sighed aloud, his tone carrying more admiration than disappointment. “There's no way I can break through any of your barriers yet.”

  “Well, if you were capable of doing that much then this would be an actual spar. But I must say, what are these flames? They’re quite peculiar.” Olivia glanced around at the dying white sparks on the ground, knitting her brows in confusion as if she had more interest in them than her actual ‘opponent’.

  “Hmm...how do I put this? Some stuff happened when I was assimilating the infernal’s mana core and it ended up messing with the skills functionality. Basically, those flames operate on an inverted combustion process so instead of emitting heat and burning things, they absorb heat and cause things to freeze...if that makes any sense.”

  He took a moment to revise that explanation in his head again, but Olivia had no need for such a thing.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “Oh my, is that so? Let me try it out for myself.”

  “Eh? W-wait Principal, are you sure about that?”

  “Why of course.”

  Returned the S-rank, giving him a mischievous wink over her shoulder. “As a magician, I’ve always had a bit of a fascination with skills—they’re exclusive to the vanguard classes, after all, even though they’re practically still magic. Ahh, what an enviable class you have child.”

  “But...” Cyril weakly retorted, not knowing to process the whimsical nature of his instructor. Although he instinctually knew what the effect of the skill was, there was no point in him using it now if she was just going to let herself get hit for the sake of curiosity.

  “Oh, don’t worry I’ll be fine. I just want to test out this little quirk.” she said, dismissing his concern with a casual wave. Olivia sauntered close to the flickering remains of Cyril’s last attack and casually swiped her hand through the waving flames. The fire curled around her fingers, but she remained unscathed, her touch bending the flames like soft fabric caught in the wind.

  “Isn’t that interesting.”

  Her expression changed; not because of pain or discomfort, rather, it was due to the subtle white discoloration spreading across her palm. Bit by bit, small patches of frost formed on her hand, slowly creeping across its span.

  “I can feel my hand getting colder, these flames really do sap the heat from everything. What a strange ability.” Upon turning around, she sent a pulse of mana surging up her wrist to destroy the cold formation spawning on it. Flicking the soft trail of frost wafting from her hand, Olivia moved to take her stance again.

  “You could have attacked me while I was distracted you know, you should be treating this as a real battle and looking to take advantage of every opening you can get.” she told the flaming boy knowingly.

  “I didn't even consider it. There’s no way I'm getting the drop on you even with your back turned, and besides there’s still something else I want to try.”

  “Oh ho? Then by all means, please give it your best Cyril. You can probably tell but we’re not exactly apt for time anyways. But be warned, this time I’ll be a bit more proactive in my counterattacks, so you would do well to keep that little fact in mind.”

  “Noted.” Cyril answered, dimming his smile.

  His serious demeanor contrasted rather well with the thin smile on his opponent’s face. One of them was taking this far too seriously, while the other wasn’t taking it seriously enough—a stark contradiction.

  “Now Cyril, it's my turn to do the honors so allow me to present you with the opening move.”

  Cyril felt a wave of pressure engulf him, not the physical kind that was reminiscent of being forced into the dirt, but a much more surreal sensation like that of an approaching wave of dread. Blue sparks sprang up from the old woman’s bangs, flashing, thrashing and snapping about until her entire body was eventually engulfed in a chaotic net of arcing electricity. Lifting a hand, she raised her index finger and sent a surge of voltaic power racing to its tip like a lightning rod.

  A surging sphere of power coalesced above her finger, zapping intensely as it swiveled about its stationary position. “Let’s see how you handle this one, I’ve toned down the output, but this will still hurt if you get hit by it.” she said, swirling her finger around before settling it on her target.

  She’d spoken those words rather amicably, but from Cyril’s perspective it sounded like a sinister taunt over all the static interference being produced by her spell.

  “Barak.”

  Her lips shaped a mystical command, directing the pulsing orb of power. In response, it condensed to a fifth of its original size, its surface remaining tense and taut, like a storm on the verge of breaking free. Soon enough, another zapping sound came from the sparks dancing along its diameter, they served only one purpose—a release mechanism.

  The ball of lightning burst in a brilliant flash, sending coiling tendrils of electricity tearing toward its silver-haired target. The electrical surge found its mark in under a second, striking the target in a searing burst of light that quaked the room, leaving it rattled from the powerful electrical discharge. Sparks flew about in the aftermath, proof that the air itself had quite literally been charged by the electric spell.

  Remnants of Olivia’s attack dispersed along the floor and walls, flashing out of existence after being denied their very purpose.

  Znnnn.....

  A faint sizzle could be heard inside the charged space hosting the two combatants as if the air itself had come alive with static—an analogy that was surprisingly close to the truth.

  “T-that was close.” Cyril stuttered, lowering his outstretched arm with an expression of relief.

  Attention roused; Olivia raised a brow. “Copying me now, are we? Last time I checked strikers couldn’t project their own barriers, I thought you lot were limited to strengthening yourselves with mana and skills.”

  Since his principal’s curiosity had yet to fade—evident from the intent stare in her eyes—he took a deep breath to calm himself before addressing her query. “That wasn’t a barrier; I used air pressure to guard against your attack.” Cyril said, his tone sounding proud.

  “The air...?” Olivia questioned, tilting her head.

  "Yes, it seems you haven't realized it yet, but... the truth is, I actually have more than one skill. Aside from Niflheim—the flame skill I used a minute ago—my unique skill, Juggernaut, lets me temporarily augment any phenomena I make contact with. As for your attack earlier, I blocked it by augmenting the air pressure to form a makeshift shield of 'solid' air. It takes a bit more mana to use, and the timing is tricky, but..."

  Sensing her silence, Cyril found himself trailing off unintentionally.

  He was expecting to get another know-it-all response from his Principal—something typical along the lines of an “I see.” or “that’s fascinating” would usually be her go to response for these kinds of situations, but unfortunately for him, that wasn’t going to happen this time.

  Instead of fetching him a light dosage of praise, Olivia stood there slack jawed, eyes wide and mouth agape. After several seconds of reeling from shock, his Principal—an S-rank hunter— barely managed to string together a single word.

  “C-C-Cyril!” she called, her tone breaking from a massive clump of uncertainty.

  “Principal...is something wrong?”

  Her face had almost gone pale but hearing that ignorant question made the principal want to burst out laughing, so she did—in a reserved manner of course.

  Olivia brought a hand to her face and gave in to the superficial shock.

  “Heh... heh... heh... haaah... Child, it seems you have no idea what it truly means to possess more than one skill. Honestly, it’s a good thing we’re doing this out of sight; the public would lose their minds if they ever caught wind of a deviant with multiple skills.”

  All of the sudden, an alarm went off in Cyril’s mind. Up until now, he’d been acting under the pretense of familiarity, not feeling any particular need to hide the information about his skills from these three people. They had known him for quite some time now, and considering the keen amount of insight they all held in relation to his past, attempting to conceal something as ubiquitous as his skills—in this city of all places—hardly seemed like it was worth the effort, until now that is.