The Demon Hunter nodded slightly.
"Yes. Five paths, fifteen Professions."
"The more Beyonder concepts a Profession can encompass, the stronger it tends to be."
Evan fell silent for a moment, then asked what he really wanted to know.
"What about Demon Hunters?"
Around the campfire, the figures who had remained silent all this time seemed to stir as one the instant he asked.
The Demon Hunter sighed.
"Unfortunately, Demon Hunters, Witches, and Mages aren't part of the mainstream Beyonder system. They're called the three disreputable Professions."
"All three are ancient names. But they've taken in so many different things that they've become a jumble."
"Since we have no established Beyonder Signifiers, we have to find our own way forward."
Evan opened his mouth.
The truth was more absurd, more unbelievable, than he had imagined.
Now he finally understood why Hill had reacted so strongly that night when the Vampire called her "disreputable."
It wasn't merely an insult.
It was the entire mainstream Beyonder system looking down on her faction.
The Demon Hunter smiled. Firelight cast shifting shadows across his face covering.
"But there are two sides to everything."
"Those three Professions may not get as far along the Beyonder path as the mainstream ones, but they have more freedom."
"Mainstream Professions are tightly bound by their paths. Their practitioners become sensitive, obsessive, and mad."
"Every step of the way has already been laid out by those who came before them, and they must follow it."
"We're freer. More normal."
"Otherwise, our meeting wouldn't have been this peaceful."
He paused, his voice growing heavy.
"Of course, the price is a high death rate and a low ceiling. We have no clear direction."
He gazed into the campfire. Flames danced in his Golden Slit Pupils.
"A Profession is a framework put together for you by those who came before."
"It tells you what to do and what not to do. What suits you and what doesn't."
Evan felt calmer after hearing that.
He had the Nine Dragons Panel. For him, the risk of death was lower than it was for any other Demon Hunter.
"Then how do I train? How do I get stronger?"
The Demon Hunter laid his silver longsword across his knees and stopped wiping it.
"Generally speaking, Demon Hunters can only reach the first three of the nine Beyonder stages."
He raised his index finger.
"Master one complete basic Beyonder Characteristic and raise your Spirit Vision above one. That's the entry point. Status: Apprentice."
He raised his middle finger too.
"Master three Beyonder Characteristics and raise your Spirit Vision above ten. Status: Expert."
Then his ring finger.
"Merge those three Beyonder Characteristics, transform your life, and raise your Spirit Vision above twenty. Status: Master."
At that, he lowered his hand and gave a bitter laugh.
Muffled by the black cloth over his face, it sounded especially weary.
"That is as far as our branch of the tradition can reach."
He looked up. For a moment, the light in his Golden Slit Pupils dimmed.
"After that, you'll have to find your own way, child..."
The dreamlike voice faded like ripples across a lake, then fell still.
The dream ended.
Evan turned his head toward the Pocket Watch on his bedside table.
Exactly six in the morning.
He got up and sat on the edge of the bed to wind the Pocket Watch.
The faint clicks of its gears were clear in the quiet bedroom, one after another, as though marking time for his tangled thoughts.
The memories that had suddenly appeared in his mind were still slowly settling into place.
There was too much about this world's Beyonder system that defied intuition.
The three Beyonder Professions celebrated in myth and legend for thousands of years were, in reality, scorned as disreputable.
Demon Hunters, Witches, Mages.
Names that should have carried the most weight in folk tales were now cast aside by the mainstream Beyonder system.
Maybe it's because those three Professions aren't "mysterious" enough.
It was a flimsy explanation, but he gave it to himself anyway.
"Creeeak!"
As he stood, the springs of the iron bed frame let out their usual strange cry.
He had barely put on his shirt when his thoughts returned to something from the dream.
Are there really no books?
He still wasn't convinced by what the senior Demon Hunter had said.
With the soul of someone who had lived on twenty-first-century Earth, he found it hard to accept the absurd notion that knowledge couldn't be written down.
He picked up a scrap of rough paper from the desk, took a Dip Pen from its holder, and dipped it into the inkpot.
First, he wrote "Knight."
Nothing happened. The ink soaked into the coarse fibers, leaving clear strokes.
Then he wrote "sun."
Again, nothing.
What if I put them together? he wondered.
"Knight of the Sun Path."
The moment he finished writing, something changed.
The words on the page wavered slightly before his eyes, as though he were looking at them through a veil of mist.
An invisible force acted on the ink. The letters shifted before his eyes and rearranged themselves into a new line: Knight under the sun.
Evan had yet to react.
Whoosh.
The whole sheet began blackening from the center in a way that defied physics. The dark edge spread rapidly outward, as though an invisible fire inside the paper were devouring its fibers.
In less than two seconds, the rough paper turned to ash and sifted down between his fingers.
The desktop was so clean it looked as if nothing had happened.
"Damn. It can do that?"
Evan stared at the empty desk for two seconds, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself.
The supposedly "rigorous scientific worldview" he knew from Earth had just been snapped in two with ink and ash.
But there are so many ordinary people. Wouldn't some of them stumble on those combinations of words and have them changed and burned too? Evan still had questions.
Unfortunately, he had no time to test it. He still needed to study.
Once he was sure the knowledge passed down in the dream was real, he opened his textbook and began reviewing that day's lessons.
Dalton's atomic theory, Berzelius's electrochemical dualism, the derivation of Avogadro's constant.
None of it was difficult for him anymore. With the framework of twenty-first-century chemistry from Earth, he could even glance at the textbooks of this era and see exactly where its scientists had taken a wrong turn.
By six forty, he had gone over everything.
He closed the book, went into the cramped Washroom at the end of the corridor, and turned on the tap.
Cold water burst from the pipe with a clunk. He scooped up two handfuls and splashed them over his face.
He had just wiped his face when he looked up at the mirror.
Then he froze.
Does a digested Magic Potion act directly on the body?
He reached up and felt the shape of his skull, his expression turning strange.
Why does my head feel... pointy?
The top of his skull was noticeably higher than yesterday, and the sides had drawn in a little. His head had gone from round to slightly oval.
It wasn't obvious, but he could feel it.
"Looks like you're digesting it pretty quickly."
A voice with a light, amused lilt came from behind him.
Evan spun around.
Hill had appeared in the Washroom doorway at some point. She leaned against the frame with her arms crossed, a faint smile on her lips as she watched him.
But today, she looked nothing like the Hill he had seen that moonlit night.
Her long silver hair had turned a warm gold.
Her Golden Slit Pupils were gone too, replaced by ordinary blue eyes that reflected the morning light beyond the Washroom window.
She wore no leather armor today, just everyday clothes.
One button of her white shirt stood open at the collar. Over it she wore a short brown cardigan, with cream-and-dark-brown checkered trousers below.
Lace-up ankle boots covered her feet, and a black newsboy cap sat on her head. Golden strands fell beneath its brim, glinting in the morning light.
"Th-then tell me, I can control this change, right?"
Evan turned to face her, too anxious to wipe the water from his face.
He really needed to know.
After all, how he looked mattered!