The early morning sun crept lazily over the horizon, casting warm gold light through the trees as the carriage rocked steadily along the dirt road toward the capital. Birds chirped overhead, and the sound of wooden wheels creaking against the road was oddly calming.
Inside the carriage, Vergil sat slouched in one of the plush seats, head tilted back, eyes half-closed. His long coat was slightly rumpled, his hair messily hanging over one eye. He let out a loud, jaw-cracking yawn and blinked slowly, still fighting off sleep.
Eleanor, sitting upright and alert across from him, narrowed her eyes and then moved to sit beside him, brushing aside her hair as she leaned in.
"Vergil." Her tone was firm but calm.
Vergil didn't respond. His gaze was vacant, drifting out the window.
"Vergil, hey—are you even there?" Eleanor repeated, waving her hand in front of his face.
Still nothing.
Without hesitation, Eleanor raised her hand and gave him a sharp slap across the cheek.
Vergil jerked upright, eyes wide. "What the hell was that for?!" he snapped, rubbing his cheek and glaring at her.
"You weren't listening!" Eleanor snapped back, folding her arms tightly across her chest.
Vergil groaned and leaned back in his seat. "Ugh… whatever. So what's going on?"
"Elina's still deciding what to do next," Eleanor replied with a sigh, her tone cooling down. "But when we get to the capital, we'll have to take a test to be accepted into the academy."
Vergil tilted his head. "A test? That shouldn't be too bad."
"It's split into two parts: practical and theory," she said, emphasizing the last word.
Vergil blinked. "...Theory?"
"Yes," Eleanor said, her tone slow and deliberate. "You just need to answer some questions. They aren't subject-based; they're more about your mindset."
Vergil froze. His eye twitched. "...Shit."
He stared down at his gloved hands, then muttered under his breath, 'System… is there a way for you to make me not illiterate?'
The System responded with its usual snide tone.
[...Fucking immigrant.]
Vergil scowled. 'Uncalled for.'
[Uneducated and sensitive. You're just making this too easy.]
'Focus. Can you help or not?'
[Nope. Learn it yourself, champ. This isn't a cheat-fest. You're in the real world now.]
Vergil cursed under his breath and looked away, suddenly finding the passing scenery very interesting.
"Uh… Eleanor?" he said, fidgeting slightly in his seat.
She raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"I… uh… well…" He scratched the back of his head, his face starting to flush. "I'm… illiterate."
He said it in one quick breath, then turned his face away, whistling awkwardly.
Eleanor's eyes widened. There was a long, stunned silence. She just stared at him, blinking slowly as if trying to process what he'd just confessed.
"Wait… what about the subjugation requests?" she asked, her voice a little higher pitched in disbelief. "Didn't you read any of them?"
Vergil started laughing, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. "Nah… I just nodded and said 'yeah yeah' while Elina was explaining everything. Thought I'd pick it up along the way."
Eleanor facepalmed. "You had all the time in the world to mention this, and you choose now?!"
"Well," Vergil said with a nervous smile, "as long as I do good in the practical part, it should be fine, right? We have that recommendation letter, remember?"
"That's the problem," Eleanor sighed, leaning back and closing her eyes. "We barely make the requirements as is. That letter helps, but it's not a guarantee."
"So to summarize…" Vergil leaned forward, his voice rising dramatically, "I'm completely screwed if I don't learn to read and write in time."
"...Yes," Eleanor said flatly, her patience draining.
Vergil let out a long groan and flopped back against the seat, staring up at the ceiling of the carriage.
The System chimed in again.
[Want some motivational quotes? "Education is the passport to the future." Or maybe: "The illiterate of the future are those who cannot learn, unlearn, and relearn." Guess which one you are?]
'You're really enjoying this, huh?'
[Oh, immensely.]
Vergil groaned again. "I hate everything."
Eleanor let out a long sigh, her eyes narrowing as she muttered, "You better start learning, or you're going to regret this."
Vergil tilted his head slightly, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. "How do you know this anyway?" he asked, curiosity flickering in his tone.
Eleanor rolled her eyes, arms folding tightly across her chest. "Basic knowledge of most academies, dummy."
Vergil blinked, then chuckled under his breath.
[What a dumbass.]
She glanced sideways, then added more quietly, "And... my cousin goes there."
His grin widened. "Which cousin is this one?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.
"The one from my uncle's side," she replied without looking at him.
Vergil's smirk sharpened.
[Let me in on this.]
'Why?' she asked, mentally.
[Of course it's for the hoes.]
'How old are you.'
[...]
'Then be quiet.'
Eleanor shook her head, a tired look creeping into her eyes. "This year will be her second. And she's quite the prodigy," she admitted reluctantly, voice softer now, pride laced with a tinge of envy.
Vergil leaned back against the wall, arms behind his head. "Doesn't mean you're giving up on your revenge, are we, Elle?" His tone was calm, but there was something darker beneath it—a subtle edge, like a blade hidden in silk.
Her gaze flickered towards him, Just briefly.
Her expression didn't change
He nodded slowly, gaze steady. "Of course I knew. Knowing your personality... if I didn't, I'd be a fool." He smiled, but his expression was serious—almost gentle.
He pushed off the wall and took a step forward, stopping just close enough for his voice to lower. "But vengeance, Eleanor... it's best done by oneself. I won't fight your fight, but I can help you prepare."
Her brow furrowed as she studied him "Why is that?"
Vergil paused for a moment, then looked away, eyes unfocused—as if staring through the room into some distant, bloodstained memory.
"Do you know why vengeance is fun to us humans?" he asked quietly, but with weight. His hands gestured loosely, as if trying to shape something abstract. "Its not about the rage or the justice its something more deeper than that."
Eleanor stayed quiet, watching him carefully.
"When we're wronged," he continued before giving a smile, "it just feels wrong, out of balance, so we need to take it out on the person that wronged us, in order to feel satisfied and balanced once again."
His eyes met hers. There was no smile now, only a smoldering sincerity. "It's not about healing the scars gained. Its a more twisted way of having fun. Its two for one ."
Eleanor's lips parted slightly, her usual sharpness softening. Her shoulders relaxed, and she took a slow step toward him.
"So you enjoy it?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper. "The violence?"
Vergil laughed, but it wasn't mocking—it was tired. "Ive never really had the chance to get revenge so I wouldnt know, but i imagine so."
Eleanor looked down, her fingers curling inward. Then she glanced back up. "You're still as crazy as ever." A faint smile tugged at the edge of her mouth.
"I always tell myself that if I do something, I might as well enjoy it.' Vergil shrugged, his brown eyes locked
Vergil shrugged. "Might as well start today. Not like we've got anything better to do."
She shook her head, but there was something in her eyes now—understanding, maybe even resolve. "Then let's begin."
Eleanor knelt in the dust, her cloak barely brushing the ground as she carved a symbol into the earth using a stick. The carriage was taking a small break.
"Āra," she said, sharp and clear. "The beginning. Every structure in Elarian starts here. Spoken or written."
Vergil crouched beside her, squinting at the mark. A looping curve—simple, almost familiar.
'That looks like an 'a','he thought, tracing it with his finger. "This may be easier than I thought"
Smack
The stick smaked Vergils hand, Eleanor was serious. Her face gleamed with a hint of anger. "Focus."she moved on to the next glyph and drew it beside the first: Bran, with its twin peaks meeting at the base.
"Strength. Root. Think of it like the spine of a sentence."
Vergil copied both glyphs with surprising accuracy. "Okay… so far this isn't that bad."
Eleanor finally looked at him. "You're taking to it faster than most."
He smirked faintly. "Guess it pays of to be average."
"Don't get ahead of yourself." She brushed aside his marks and began again.
She carved Cyr, a tight spiral ending in a hooked line. "Clarity. Mind. Used to focus energy or meaning."
Vergil leaned closer, watching her hand. 'It really does look like English letters. Just twisted or stretched.'
He nodded, mimicking her spiral. This time, it was nearly perfect.
Next came Drael, a downward stroke curved like a falling blade.
"Death. Ending. Be careful where you write it."
Vergil studied the sharp glyph. "Ive seen the glyph on some gravestones when I was passing by.
"Its ," Eleanor said. "Even if they didn't speak it."
As the lesson continued, Eleanor grew quieter, letting the glyphs speak for themselves.
Eil — spirit. A cross between an E and a wing.
Fenn — flame. It danced like a jagged S.
Ghor — stone. A broad, grounded glyph, like a backward G with weight.
Vergil copied each one without much trouble, and it surprised him. Reading had never been his strength, but something about Elarian made sense. It was like decoding a mirror version of a language he already half-knew.
"You're not struggling," Eleanor observed flatly.
He shrugged. "It's weird, I know. I thought this would feel more… foreign." 'I'd rather keep it a secret that im from another world to myself.'
"Don't trust comfort. The deeper you go, the more the glyphs start to change you. They aren't just symbols—they're resonances. Thoughts made visible."
Vergil glanced up. "Sounds a lot like magic."
"It is."
Still, he pressed on.
Hael — light.
Ith — stillness.
Jarn — memory.
They came to him like puzzle pieces snapping into place. Each shape echoed something familiar, but carried a new weight, a hidden rule beneath the surface.
"Not too bad" he said, half-joking.
[You have the permanent Jinx effect activated]
Vergils eyes widened 'Wait is that a joke or an actual effect'
[Im joking]
Eleanor's lips twitched slightly, not quite a smile. "Dont get cocky now."
By the time they reached Orun, Vergil had written nearly every glyph once, sometimes twice. His hands were dusty, but steady.
"Orun," she said. "It means Sun and Origin . We will end it here ."
He finished drawing it, then sat back. "That's it?"
"For now."
Eleanor stood, brushing off her gloves. "You picked it up quickly."
"Better than I thought."
"Not bad." She looked away. "But learning the glyphs is only the first step."
Vergil glanced at his scattered drawings. "And the second?"
"Understanding what they do when they're spoken."
He frowned. "You mean I actually have to say these?"
Eleanor's voice was quiet. "Spoken Elarian breaks the world in half, Vergil. Writing just teaches you which half to aim at."
That silenced him.
But as he looked back at the glyphs he'd drawn, something in him stirred—A faint interest. Whether it would turn into curiosity or a hobby, that was up to Vergil.
And for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel behind.
He felt like he was just starting.
Night had settled in like a velvet curtain, draping over the forest with silence and stillness. The campfire crackled at the heart of the clearing, casting orange and gold light across the group. Shadows danced against trees, and the scent of ash and roasted meat filled the air.
Vergil sat on a small log, his plate balanced on one knee. He ate in silence, slowly, methodically. When his canteen ran dry, he drained it without hesitation, barely registering the taste. His eyes, however, weren't on his food.
They were on the pair sitting just across the fire—Elina and Eleanor.
Elina was talking about something lighthearted, hands moving as she spoke, laughter occasionally slipping from her lips like it was the most natural thing in the world. Beside her sat Eleanor—rigid posture, arms crossed, expression unreadable. But she wasn't walking away. She wasn't biting back. In fact, her cold demeanor had cracked just slightly, like thin frost under morning sun.
A faint smile tugged at Eleanor's lips at something Elina said—small, restrained, but real.
Vergil blinked.
'Seems like they're having fun,' he thought, watching the flicker of warmth between the two.
[That's called bonding.]
'Bonding…?' The word felt foreign. Like something soft trying to live in a world full of blades.
[Mhm. That's how it starts. Talking, sharing, even awkward silences—it's all part of it.]
Vergil frowned slightly. 'But Eleanor... she doesn't open... not to me.'
[Thats because of your intentions, you made it clear from the start did you not. You see her as a tool. You may call her comrade when fighting but she knows how you truly view her as. ]
He stared into the fire, letting the warmth touch his skin. 'I don't get it. How does that happen? How do people just… connect?'
[You've been like this ever since you came here, to others your ruthless, you see her as a tool, not a friend, only by treating her like one, will she open up to you]
Vergil's gaze dropped to the ground. The embers popped gently beside him.
'When I try to speak, it always feels... wrong. Like I'm not built for this. Like I missed something everyone else learned long ago.
'When i try to speak, it always comes out different. It feels wrong... like i'm not built for this. Its like walking through a fog that i can't see and they can.'
[The truth is, bonds are forged through different things, whether it is shared by going through adversities together, sharing like minded thoughts or sharing good moments. Your mindset is that by being alone you will get stronger, since you are not held done by emotions, ]
'Didn't it?'
[Humans are beings full of emotions, rejecting them will hinder you, but embracing them will aso hinder you. Its a contradiction]
'Contradiction, but why is that?'
[Ill tell you... after you get a drink]
Verhil let out a heavy sigh as he walked toward the wagon for the jug.Old and dented and filled with something that would burn the tongue. He took a sip of it, winced and returned to his place near the fire after paying 5 copper.
Bitter he thought again. But that didn't stop hinself from drinking.
before the system explained
[Its just how it is, but let's give an example using your past 'works' by rejecting them you are able to dispose of others, without any hard feelings, like those 2 adventurres you murdered when facing morvax. However, by trying to hide those emotions, when you experience emotions you find yourself lost and unable to understand them. You become too full of emotions]
Vergil said nothing He drank more. Slowly this time. The burn was still there. But it dulled as he drank, warming it instead
[Just like with Elvira]
The name made him twitch slightly as his grip on the jug hardened as its contents sloshed around. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Once again he did not speak, before regaining his composure.
He drank again, deeper this time. The jug was half empty now. The gulps dulled the noise, yet the system voice perieced through with unnerving clarity
[People who are always hiding their emotions tend to have felt them to the extreme at one point in life. Emotions like sorrow or anger.
'What about me then' Vergil said with a smirk. Tugged at the corner of his mouth
He raised the jug again and drank, longer this time. His eyes lingered too long on the fire afterward. The orange glow reflecting in their dephs like something far away
[Loss]
The words echoed like a drop of ink in still water. Small, quiet, but it rippled.
[When you talked to Elvira, you always looked up to her as a grandmother—unconsciously. People without family often do that. They see the ones who guide or shelter them as something more. As home. Your emotions grew without you realizing it. And when you lost her, they didn't vanish. They spilled out. Like a cup of water too full to hold another drop. Your emotions overflowed.]
Vergil tilted the jug again. His hand trembled slightly now—not from fear, but from the unspoken weight pressing on his limbs. The bitter liquid sloshed at the edge and spilled down his chin, trailing along his jawline before dripping onto his collar. He didn't wipe it away. Didn't seem to notice.
His other hand, once curled tightly around the hilt of his sheathed blade, now rested limply in the dirt. He stared into the fire with the hollow focus of a man looking into something he could never reach.
Leaning in closer, his body subtly hunched forward, as if he were trying to let the heat fill the hollow space inside his chest. The flames reflected in his eyes, flickering against the glaze forming there. His breathing slowed—not relaxed, but unsteady, like someone searching for words in a room where none existed.
He exhaled slowly, shoulders rising and falling like a tired sigh. When he spoke, his voice was softer than before, less guarded. Like a whisper caught in ash.
"I can't remember her face… it's blurry," he muttered, almost like he was telling the fire itself. Then, lower, as if to himself, "…I can't remember the happy times, just the cold after."
The jug stayed in his grip, heavier now. His thumb traced the rim absently, as if caught in a memory that hovered just out of reach.
[Now reflect on it.]
[Stop shoving others away. Stop looking at everyone as tools, as stepping stones.]
[The bonding system grants strength—but only when both user and companion see each other as equals. No lies. No manipulation. No walls between hearts.]
Vergil's jaw clenched for a moment, and his knuckles whitened around the jug. But he didn't interrupt. Didn't argue.
The fire popped, sending a trail of sparks spiraling up into the night sky. He watched them rise, watched them vanish.
Still silent.
Still holding on to something.
And still drinking.
Vergil finished the last of the drink, tipping the jug back and letting the final bitter drops slide past his tongue. His hand lingered in the air for a moment before he let it drop with a thud beside him, the jug rolling a few inches away in the dirt.
He blinked slowly, his brown eyes glassy and unfocused now, like a stormcloud trying to make sense of moonlight. They drifted—not in sharp movements, but in lazy, uneven rolls from the fire to the sky to his boots, like even looking had become too much of an effort. He slouched, shoulders sinking as if gravity had grown heavier. His knees parted slightly and his fingers flexed open and closed, searching for balance he no longer quite had.
His voice came out slower now, slightly slurred, threaded with an unfamiliar warmth. "S-System."
[Yes?]
Vergil tilted his head, staring at a tree as if it might respond. "Y'know… you—you sound so... human when you talk…"
[You think so?]
"Y-yeah," he said, nodding with a bit too much force, like his body was trying to catch up with his words. "You do…"
There was a pause, a flicker of sincerity that crept into his expression between the drunken haze.
"...Yeah, I do. You're the only… the only one I've really known since I got sent here. You talk, even if your dumbass jokes piss me off sometimes…"
[...]
Vergil laughed to himself, a rough little chuckle that came with a hiccup. "Heh… never noticed it. But you bein' there? It… it makes all the difference."
[...Thanks.]
Vergil squinted toward the darkness as if trying to see the system's face—an instinctual human thing.
"Wait, wha'd you say?" he asked, hiccuping again and wobbling as he got to his feet.
The world swayed around him. His legs weren't quite listening anymore, stiff one second and too loose the next. He stumbled slightly to the left, caught himself, then swayed to the right like he was moving with the rhythm of the night wind.
A passing traveler cast him a sidelong glance, whispering to their companion. "Who's he talking to?"
"Drunk," the other murmured, shaking their head. "Ignore him."
Vergil didn't notice. Or maybe he did and didn't care. His eyes were fluttering now, blinking more than needed, his body fighting the pull of exhaustion.
Vergil headed towards the carriage but stumbled tonthe ground. His limbs sprawling lime a puppet cut from strings as he layed on the grass fields as the moons gaze lingered on him shimmering its moonlight. He relaxed and sank on the grass as if it were the softest bed he'd ever know
"S'ystem…" he mumbled, voice muffled against his own arm. "We're friends… right?"
[For the second time... yes.]
There was a long silence.
Then: "...Are you… are you happy?"
[...]
Vergil's breathing slowed. His brown eyes, still glassy, rolled halfway open—then shut. The tension in his fingers loosened. His chest rose and fell, calm now. Sleep claimed him before the answer came.
[Who knows.]
The fire outside crackled. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called into the night.
And the system, for a moment, said nothing more.
[Users relationship with 'System' Has increased to rank 1]
[The system has gained the ability 'Mission']