The Special Orb mission had updated in Luke's system interface as completed—but just as the notification faded, another one appeared:

*Assassination Contract (Exclusive)*

Objective: Assassinate the Orc Lord.

[Mission Failed]

The contract had been forcefully updated. In that moment, Luke understood—this quest hadn't come from the System alone. It had come from a god. And then, one more notification appeared, just for a moment:

['Too bad you rejected my mission. I was looking forward to our talk — L']

The message vanished, and with it, all traces of the assassination contract. It had been divine in origin. Issued months ago by a god who simply signed: L.

But then—dozens of books rose into the air around Samael. He pointed toward a large table, and the volumes floated in perfect alignment, stacking themselves with eerie precision.

"Witchcraft?" Luke raised an eyebrow, bringing the conversation back on track. "You mean, like… animal sacrifice and blood rituals?"

Samael leaned back in his chair as a bottle of beer floated into his hand. "We're going to have to dismantle a few ideas your universe planted in you. Tell me—what do you think witchcraft is?"

"Someone drawing a pentagram on the floor, surrounded by candles, chanting in Latin. That kind of thing."

"And where did you learn that? A movie?"

"Something like that."

Samael let out a short huff of laughter—but didn't smile. "Understand this: your world's culture was shaped by echoes of the multiverse. Twisted, yes—but echoes nonetheless. Haven't you ever wondered why your species knew about elves long before discovering the existence of other universes? Or why myths of magic, fairies, and dragons are so… universal?"

Luke frowned, taking it more seriously than he expected to.

"The System," Samael continued, "integrates each universe gradually. It molds cultural knowledge—plants seeds slowly. That way, when revelation finally comes, the shock is softened. It's slow. But effective."

"So… there's television in other universes?" Luke asked, half out of reflex.

"I can't answer that."

"What? It's just a dumb question."

"And that's exactly why I can't answer it. You'll understand later."

Luke didn't press further. But the next question slipped out anyway.

"So… there isn't some demon named Lucifer out there?"

Samael shrugged.

"Your question is like asking if there's a human named Peter. Odds are—yeah, somewhere. But remember: there are translations involved. The System adapts what we say into something your mind can comprehend. So when I say 'Samael,' it's not really the sound I'm making. It's the version your brain can handle. The real name? You couldn't even process it. It'd be like trying to see a color that doesn't exist. The System gives you the closest approximation within your reality."

Luke went quiet for a few seconds. The more answers he got… the more questions followed. And now that time was running out, he began to realize how little he actually knew.

"My bloodline is called 'Dark Demon'..." he said, voice quieter now. "What does that even mean?"

Samael chuckled softly. "That kind of question… your window to ask it has already closed."

Luke felt a pang of frustration. Now that his mind was clear, now that he finally wanted to ask—he couldn't.

"But..." Samael raised a single finger, a spark of mischief glinting in his eyes. "I'm someone who pays very close attention to the fine print in the pacts I sign. Technically, I'm forbidden from giving you direct answers. But if I were to share a random curiosity... well, then I wouldn't be breaking any agreement, would I?"

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

He winked at Luke and walked over to the table. Luke followed, focused.

"When a god becomes exceptional at something—undisputed, unparalleled—the System acknowledges it. It's as if the deity becomes the living embodiment of that concept."

Samael ran his fingers along the spine of one of the books.

"For instance… Lakarion. You've heard the name before. A god whose presence you've felt throughout this tutorial. He became so refined, so efficient at his craft, that the System recognized him."

He turned to Luke, expectantly.

"What is Lakarion known for?"

Luke didn't hesitate. "Lakarion… is the God of Assassination."

"Correct." Samael nodded, pleased. "That's one of the great powers of founding a divine order. Lakarion claimed a divine-level title."

He smiled slightly.

"He became the greatest assassin to ever exist—not by body count, but by sheer mastery. By proficiency."

"So… an apostle who becomes a god still doesn't earn a divine title unless…?" Luke asked.

"Unless they gather enough followers to sustain it," Samael finished. "Exactly. It's one of the requirements for becoming a divine regent."

He now stood before the table, arms open.

"I told you I'd teach you witchcraft. But forget what you saw in Harry Potter or any other fiction from your world. Real witchcraft isn't about candles, salt circles, or chanting in Latin."

He passed his hand over the stacked books like someone revering ancient inheritance. The motion was slow, almost ceremonial. His fingers moved gently across the covers, tracing the texture of leather and dust as if greeting old friends from another lifetime.

"The word 'witchcraft' comes from something older. Far older. It essentially means the deep study of the mystical arts of the universe. It's about understanding how things work—and making that understanding work for you."

Luke tried to absorb it all.

"There's a class called 'Witch,' right? But that's just one of many variations—mages, sorcerers… It's a modernized form of structured mana manipulation. What I'll teach you… is Old Witchcraft. Archaic. Unsystematized. Raw."

Samael lifted one hand, and the stack of books floated into Luke's arms.

"My master Azazel," he said, almost proudly, "is the greatest witch the multiverse has ever seen. And everything begins here. With this. Reading. Studying. Absorbing."

Luke held the books—each one heavy as a brick. He dropped them on the table with a dull thud and opened one at random. It was thick. Easily over a thousand pages. And this… was just the first volume.

"So I actually have to study?"

"Of course you do," Samael replied. "Did you think you'd unlock the secrets of the universe by clicking shiny buttons in a menu?"

He turned to one of the shelves, retrieved another tome, and opened it with a crack.

"Do you know what Darwin said about evolution and adaptation?" Samael asked.

"You mean like that thing about giraffes getting longer necks to reach food?"

"Something like that. Or how polar bears, once brown, adapted to white fur for camouflage in the snow. The System works the same way—it rewards adaptation. Every time you learn something new, your possibilities expand."

He pointed at Luke.

"Your Force Infusion skill only manifested because you understood how stamina actually works. That wasn't a gift—it was a consequence."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "So… I could do something similar with mana?"

"There's only one way to find out," Samael replied with a sly smile. "Here's my personal tip: every new discovery, insight, or ability... is like a coin tossed into the vault of your legacy. And the fuller that vault gets, the faster it multiplies."

"Like compound interest?"

"Exactly," Samael nodded approvingly. "It's one thing to earn 1% interest on a thousand. It's something entirely different to earn 1% on a million."

Luke nodded, mentally filing away every word. "Now I understand why you referred to gods as 'investors.'"

Samael tossed another book in his direction.

"Each volume here covers a profession. From the most basic to the most obscure. Inside, you'll find experiments, formulas, theories, case studies—documented by brilliant minds. I want you to read... all of it."

Luke glanced at the massive pile. Then at the shelves around the room—packed wall to wall.

"All of it?" he echoed.

"All of it," Samael confirmed. "And somewhere in that ocean of knowledge, you must find the right profession. The one that carries the essence of archaic witchcraft. That will be your first test."

Luke opened one of the tomes and immediately felt its weight—both literal and symbolic. The smell of old ink and parchment filled his senses. Each page seemed to whisper a challenge: Are you ready to understand? Are you ready to change?

"So it's not something like 'Profession: Warlock' or 'Witch,' right?"

"No," Samael said, with an enigmatic smile. "It won't be called witchcraft. It won't wear the name. But when you find it… you'll know. Old Witchcraft isn't done with magic—but it is still, unquestionably, magical."

Samael reclined in his chair, sipping from his bottle with that usual air of amused disdain.

"Wait, wait…" Luke raised a hand. "There are thousands of books in here. If I pick the wrong profession, I'm almost guaranteed to fail this test. That's like… humanly impossible."

"If you fail," Samael said, opening a book without even glancing at the pages, "I'll teach you the profession you chose. Even if it's idiotic, useless, and drags your entire journey through the mud."

He chuckled lightly, as if he couldn't care less about the outcome.

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