Rent and Bad Decisions

There are moments in life when you question everything.

Like when you bring home a vampire because your hero complex activated five seconds too early—and your self-preservation instincts were still buffering.

Some people bring home puppies.

I brought home Asren Takar al'Dairos. A vampire who looks like he stepped off the cover of some forbidden noble lineage handbook and forgot how warmth works.

In my defense: I didn't plan this. I was coming home from the market—fresh bread, spices, ingredients for a stew that didn't involve blood—when I spotted him being pursued through the alleyways by some saint-looking girl with a glowing spear and what I think was called the 'Inquisition.'

No idea what that is. Just know that it sounded like bad news, and I panicked.

So I did what any semi-functional idiot with a surplus of adrenaline and a deficit of self-preservation would do: I turned on instinct, matched his pace and ran like hell—right into whatever mess he was in. Now here we are: two stories up, in a cramped, half-magically-reinforced complex with one bedroom, a demon roommate, and a vampire fugitive who apparently thinks I'm his getaway driver.

Syllia stared at him. He stared at Syllia. I stared at both of them, mentally drafting my will and apology at the same time

"So," I said, a little too brightly, sweeping my arm toward the uninvited guest like I was showcasing a luxury coffin at a black-market auction, "this is… Asren. Our new roommate."

Asren gave a shallow nod, because apparently when you're old enough, social niceties are optional.

Syllia blinked. Once. Twice. Slowly. Like she was about to choose violence but wanted to savor the foreplay.

"Victor," she said, in the dangerously calm tone that made demons check under their beds, "do you enjoy collecting supernatural threats, or are you just on a self-destructive spiral with flair?"

"Okay, first of all—rude," I said. "Second, he was being chased by a glowing spear lady who called herself a Saint candidate. I figured helping him was better than letting him get dusted in our neighborhood."

Her expression didn't change. "And what, you decided the best place to bring a hunted vampire fugitive was our house? With one bedroom? And our rent already three weeks overdue?"

Yeah.I forgot about that too. According to my still-fragmented memory, we're a few weeks late on that one-gold debt.

"He said he can teach me blood magic," I added quickly,because educational bribery is harder to argue against.

She looked at me. Then at Asren. Then back at me like I'd just confessed to marrying a sentient fungus.

"I'm invoking a Binding Clause," she said flatly. "If he stays, we bind him to the house. First wrong move, I stake him and dump his ashes down the privy."

"I accept," Asren said, like this was all very beneath him but mildly amusing.

"No, that's unnecessary," I said. She was just as much a stranger to me as he is now.

Syllia folded her arms. "Where the hell is he sleeping?"

I glanced around. Our second floor consisted of a too-small living room, one bathroom with a door that never fully closed, a kitchen counter that sloped for mysterious reasons, my bedroom, and the office.

"We'll figure it out," I said, lying bravely."Closet, couch, bathtub—I don't know. Somewhere shadowy. Vampires like shadows, right?"

"I do not 'like' shadows," Asren said, mildly offended. "I prefer them. There's a distinction."

Syllia pinched the bridge of her nose like she was trying to crush a headache into submission. "You owe me."

She narrowed her eyes."This isn't a small favor. You're going to owe me—and I'll collect when you least expect it… and when it hurts most."

So now I had:

One demon roommate with a vengeful sense of timing,

One vampire fugitive with too many syllables in his name,

A living space that creaked like it was haunted by financial despair,

And no stew.

Just another Tuesday

As we sat on the couch, I decided it was time to introduce myself and Syillia to our newest house guest.

"Okay, Asren—this is Syillia. She's a demon who I... don't really remember summoning."

"A demon?" he asked, brows lifting. "Weren't they banished a long time ago? How did you summon her?"

He asked like I had the answer.

"Not like I know," I muttered. "I practically lost my memory this morning after I collapsed."

Just as I said that, Syillia cut in, pinching the bridge of her nose like she'd spent the day babysitting toddlers with fire magic.

"Last night," she corrected flatly. "You summoned me last night, in exchange for power."

Asren looked genuinely shaken, like he'd just overheard a war crime.

"Wait—summoned?" he said. "That's banned. World-wide. If you get caught, it's an automatic death sentence."

Awesome. So Victor wasn't just an idiot—he was also an international lawbreaker. What's next? Secret forbidden knowledge?

"Banned worldwide?" I asked. "Why?"

"I can't say for sure," Asren replied, his voice tense. "I don't know much more than you. But the reason I was being chased… my House was hunted down—almost to extinction. I managed to escape thanks to this artifact."

He held up a golden orb, about the size of a small baseball. It gleamed softly in the dim light, and etched across the surface was a number:

#0323

"Based on how it reacted during the pursuit, it seems the artifact calculated and directed me toward the safest viable route—estimated success rate between 90 and 100 percent."

Syillia leaned forward, intrigued."But why were you being chased? Don't vampires have their own society or something?"

"Sadly... we were granted limited immunity by The International council, including the Church of Luminece and a few other kingdoms on the council. My household was a leading figure in our community. Then, that night..."

His voice dimmed, stiffening like a man recalling his final breath, but its not like we knew what he was mentioning.

"They came onto our lands—hunted everyone. Women, children. No mercy."

His tone sharpened, anger bleeding into the air like static.

"I'm very sorry to hear that, Asren. But... who were the pursuers?" Syllia asked.

"You wouldn't know. Sir Victor here lost his memory—convenient timing, by the way."(Technically, I'm not really 'Victor,' but go on.)

"And Lady Syillia is from another realm entirely. So neither of you would be familiar with this."

We both leaned in, curiosity piqued by the weight in his voice.

"The Heresy Inquisition," he said slowly. "They're a global enforcement branch sanctioned by multiple kingdoms. Their job is to eliminate anything considered heretical—criminals, forbidden magic users, cursed bloodlines... down to the last soul."

He paused, his voice low.

"That woman with the glowing spear? She somehow got official authorization to involve them."

"What do you mean?" I asked, suddenly tense.

"She's one of the five Saint Candidates of the Holy Kingdom," he explained. "Candidates earn favor—political power, holy rank, resources—by hunting what the Church deems evil: ghouls, djinn, warlocks. That's how they climb the ladder."

He exhaled sharply, jaw tight.

"But my people were granted immunity by the Continental Council over two centuries ago. After the Great Hunt, when the Church nearly drove our kind to extinction, a treaty was signed. House Dairos helped negotiate that treaty. We were safe—until now."

"Okay... but what does that have to do with vampires being targeted again?" Syillia asked, narrowing her eyes.

Asren's voice darkened.

"She needed a reason to justify the attack. The Inquisition can't act unless there's a formal accusation of heresy. So she made one—against House Dairos. She called us traitors. Claimed we were practicing forbidden rites. Once the accusation was approved, the Inquisition moved in."

Syillia and I were absolutely stunned by the news.

"An international government and a church hunting down entire races… for what?" Syillia asked, her voice laced with unease.

Asren spoke up, his tone grim."Lady Syillia, your kind—demons—were banished long before the Church was even formed. But even now, they consider demons corrupted. If they find you, I swear... you won't leave alive."

"Was that common knowledge?" I asked, curious. "I mean… demons being banished? Or even still existing?"

"I wouldn't know," Asren replied. "It's not like we mingle with other races often."

Syillia stood abruptly, distress clear in her eyes.

"Victor… first you summon me, and now you've brought in a hunted vampire. I should be scolding you right now. But please—for both our sakes—keep us hidden." Her voice trembled with rare sincerity.

Asren bowed his head solemnly."I beg the same of you, Sir Victor. I seek shelter and protection from a world gone mad with corruption."

They both stood and bowed toward me like I was royalty. Not that I minded—but I was a scientist, not some kind of figurehead.

"Sigh... don't worry," I said, running a hand through my hair. "As long as we stick together, we'll be safe. But if I'm going to protect anyone, I need power. Which means... I need to be taught—by both of you."

They exchanged a glance before nodding in unison.

"We are grateful for your providence," they said. "We will do as you ask."

Asren stepped forward, suddenly serious.

"I made a promise—I would swear my fealty and bind myself to you. Please, accept my oath, Sir Victor."

Oh no. Not this again.The last time someone swore an oath, it took me to another dimension. But… alright, let's see what this one's about.

"Go ahead, Asren. I accept."

He smiled faintly, then knelt just as Syillia had when we first met.

"I, Asren Takar al'Dairos of House Dairos, swear my fealty to thee."

Suddenly, a gust of wind erupted from beneath us. Darkness spiraled upward, engulfing everything. In the blink of an eye, I was back—seated atop the same massive, throne-like seat as before, radiating power and absolute authority.Below me, Asren trembled uncontrollably, his voice fractured and broken.

"I-I didn't kn-know... th-the Unblinded still l-lived. Wh-what an h-honor, m-my l-liege..." he stammered, his body trembling as he struggled to keep his head bowed.

Suddenly, a long, oval-shaped table emerged from the void—its surface sleek and dark, as if carved from obsidian. It stretched into the shadows like a grand council table, yet only two chairs materialized at its sides—one for Syillia, one for Asren—the only ones who had sworn themselves to me.

All around us was a dark, endless ocean. The water didn't lap or churn; it simply was, still and eternal. Above it, the void pulsed faintly like a sky without stars.

I turned behind me—and froze.

Etched into the black horizon like a glowing emblem was a silver and black lion, regal and fierce. But embedded in the center of its chest, bold and impossible, was a symbol that belonged to another world:

E = mc²

Then everything vanished in an instant.

Reality snapped back, and Asren lay unconscious on the floor.

From Syillia's perspective, it was as if nothing had happened. One moment he knelt, the next—he was out cold.

"What happened?" she asked, clearly unsettled.

I shrugged, keeping it simple. "He swore the oath... then passed out. Just like you did."

She raised a brow. "Yeah, that happened with me too. But don't just leave him there—pick him up and put him on the couch."

"I was going to," I muttered. "Not like I was planning to leave him on the floor."

As I laid Asren on the couch and reached for the bag of bread, Syillia stopped me with a gentle hand on my arm.

"Let's wait until he wakes up," she said. "It's more appropriate—and I still have a few questions for him."

I shrugged, reluctantly agreeing, even though my stomach growled in protest. Syillia turned toward the bedroom, then looked back at me with a sly smile.

"Being the only woman here—for now—I think it's only fair I get the room."

Without waiting for a response, she slipped inside and shut the door behind her.

"...That's fine," I muttered, though it's not like she heard me.

And just like that, I found myself sleeping not in a bed, in my own home. Sigh.

With both of them resting, I turned toward the office door. "Well," I said to myself, "might as well see what we've got in here."

I remembered the diagram from the book Ryan gave me—circles within circles, numbers tangled like a madman's attempt at trigonometry, and equations that looked like Einstein had a mental breakdown while binging fantasy novels.

No postures. No chants. Just a bunch of arcane calculus, like if magic was invented by a physicist with trust issues.

I even remembered the phrases scribbled in the margins, motivational nonsense like:

"Magic is not awakened—it is understood.""If you seek control, calculate. If you seek freedom, innovate."

Whatever the hell that means.

Still, no matter how long I stared at those glyphs, no matter how hard I try remembering them hoping they'd suddenly translate into "Press X to Cast," it amounted to nothing. Not even a flicker. Not even a warm breeze.

Embarrassingly… I hit rock bottom.

I stood up, cleared my throat, and pointed my hand like I was mid-battle in some budget anime dub.

"Fireball!"

...

Absolutely nothing.

Just the sad whimper of reality crushing my fantasy delusions.

But I wasn't giving up yet. If screaming basic spells didn't work, then maybe—

"Domain Expansion… Quantum Singularity: Soul Reactor!!"

…Still nothing.

Just my own voice echoing in the room like the world itself was sighing in disappointment.

Okay. Time for the Rimuru approach.

I whispered under my breath, trying to will the mana into me like some JRPG protagonist leveling up mid-cutscene:

"Magicule Release—Heaven's Particle Collapse!!"

Again—nada.

I stared at my perfectly ordinary, non-glowing, non-magic-enhanced hand and sat back down in defeat.

Somewhere, the universe laughed. And it sounded like a condescending ding.

I looked back at the diagrams—concentric circles, equations, angles. It was all logic. Math. Rules. Hidden beneath the chaos was structure. Which meant one thing:

"If magic really is the science of this world… then I'm not failing because I'm not magical."

I smirked.

"I'm failing because I haven't figured out the formula yet."

I decided to check out the magic book Victor originally owned. The one Ryan gave me—yeah, that came from some ancient ruin way up north. Probably written by another Earth-born isekai reject like me, judging by the cryptic phrases and English scribbles.

What I needed now was a basic foundation—something created by a native of this world, not a fellow outsider trying to reinvent the wheel with calculus and existential dread.

I headed over to the bookshelf, scanning the spines until one caught my eye. No title, just an old leather binding that looked like it hadn't been touched in decades.

"Close enough," I muttered, pulling it down.

I sat at the desk and cracked it open, half-expecting it to scream or explode or do something overly magical. Thankfully, all I got was the musty scent of paper older than most nations.

The first chapter of Introduction to the Elements didn't talk about fireballs or spells. It didn't mention chants or gestures or page counts.

It started with one word, centered on the page, like a title and a truth all in one:Essentia.

"You cannot see it. You cannot hold it. But it is everywhere. Flowing through stone, blood, air, even thought. Essentia is not magic—it is the reason magic exists."

As I read on, I felt something shift in me. Like this book wasn't just teaching—it was reminding me.

"When a mage casts a flame, when a swordmaster splits stone with a single stroke, or when a monk breathes and stills the wind—that is Essentia in motion. Not power, but presence. Not strength, but connection."

It described Essentia like a vein of invisible current, running through all living and non-living things. The earth doesn't burn or float or crack just because someone wills it to—but because that will aligns with the flow of Essentia.

"Essentia is the unseen thread that binds all forms—energy, thought, action. It does not answer to dominance. It responds to understanding."

That line stuck with me.

Jacobs wasn't preaching the kind of power I'd seen nobles brag about. This wasn't about shouting louder or forcing more pages open. It was about listening. Feeling. Tuning into something deeper—something already there.

Then the book shifted gears, gently.

"Most are taught to control the elements. But how many truly know them?"

"There are six natural elements—Fire, Water, Earth, Air, Light, and Dark. These are not tools. They are philosophies, each tied to a rhythm of Essentia. To master one is not to control it, but to move with it."

There were diagrams—simple ones—not spells, but flows. Arrows and lines that spiraled like currents in water or heat from a forge.

"You can shape Essentia. Bend it. Let it become armor, breath, or blade. But only if you listen first. Only if you stop forcing it to be what it is not."

No mention of Grimoires. Not yet.

But it was there, between the lines—a whisper. A sense that maybe the way things are isn't the way they were meant to be. That maybe, all these rules and pages and cast limits… weren't natural at all.

Jacobs never said it out loud.

But his writing ached with the weight of something forgotten.

And I could feel it now—just barely. A warmth in my chest. A tingling in my fingertips.

Essentia wasn't a tool. It was a truth.And I was just starting to hear it.

But before any of that, I needed to pay rent. If I got two gold coins for teaching those brats, that'd barely cover this month—and last month's overdue payment. After that, I'd have nothing left. No money for food, no money for ink—let alone enough to take care of two other people.

I needed a new source of income. Fast.

Let's just hope the landlord isn't a complete bastard.

Right as I thought that, there was a knock at the door.

I sighed, closed the book I'd been reading, and stood up from my chair. The knocking grew louder. And angrier.

I walked toward the door, silently praying it had nothing to do with Arsen.

As I got closer, I called out, voice tight with nerves, "Who's there?"

What came next wasn't comforting.

"Victor! Open the damn door, you bastard! Your rent's three weeks late and the month's almost over!"

Yup. The very landlord I was just mentally cursing.