The moonlight grew dim.
A carriage, its doors emblazoned with the crest of Balor Academy, sped down the highway. The pure-blooded stallions pulling the coach exhaled hot, rhythmic breaths, their satiny black coats shimmering with faint reflections. Heavy velvet curtains served a dual purpose: they kept out the biting chill of the wilderness and muffled the rhythmic rumble of the wheels against the road.
Inside the carriage, a young girl with skin as white as porcelain sat in silence. Her soft hands were folded elegantly over her knees, her small frame sinking slightly into the plush velvet cushions. She had long, straight hair that shone like polished acrylic, with neat bangs framing a smooth forehead. Her long, curled eyelashes were like delicate butterflies resting over her round, dark eyes, their wings fluttering ever so slowly.
Those eyes held a misty, hazy quality, their corners thick and naturally alluring. Moving down, her features were exquisitely carved—a slight pout to her tender, supple lips that contrasted sharply with her cold, pale complexion and sharp jawline. It was a face of profound, almost hypnotic beauty.
The tea-haired girl sitting beside her was utterly entranced, a half-eaten candied fruit forgotten in her hand.
Pandora’s striking pupils shifted toward the corner of her eyes, taking in her companion’s reaction. In her field of vision, two progress bars appeared beside the face of this girl, Delia.
One was red; the other was blue.
They represented Favorability and Trust, respectively. Both were capped at a value of 100. The difficulty of increasing them scaled upward, with the final twenty points being notoriously difficult to earn, usually requiring specific “events” to trigger progress. Maxing them out meant “Obsession” and “Absolute Faith.”
This was the power granted to her by her “Box.”
Pandora had noticed from the moment they gathered for their class assignments that Delia was captivated by her. The red favorability bar had surged at a visible rate, crossing the halfway mark in minutes and only slowing down once it reached the two-thirds point. As for the blue trust bar, it had started at 50, jumped to 70 the moment they met, and climbed to 90 alongside the red bar’s growth.
It meant the girl had no defenses against her. She would be completely obedient.
Pandora narrowed her eyes, masking a look of pure contempt.
Hmph. Stupid little girl.
Word was that Delia was the daughter of an Explorers’ Guild branch head in some small town. She had grown up wealthy and carefree—a classic, naive airhead.
I really should offer my sincerest thanks to the parents who raised you to be so blissfully ignorant, Pandora thought.
Pandora decided right then that this innocent, cute, and gluttonous little thing—who was to be her roommate and classmate—would be her practice dummy.
Because the Academy’s enrollment deadline was looming, their preparations and departure had been a frantic blur. They had been escorted across vast distances to Crowsnest Town, registered, and then immediately whisked toward the Academy. Pandora hadn’t had a single moment to practice the skills her Godfather had taught her.
As of now, she was still a “novice.” Delia would be her XP farm.
Pandora was well aware that the Evernight Witches were no ordinary people. They might very well recognize the mechanics of the “Divine Punishment Box.” If her motives were too obvious, she would likely fall under suspicion, undergo an investigation, and ultimately be exposed.
She had to move with absolute caution, leaving no trace behind—like a fox walking through the snow, using its soft, bushy tail to sweep away its own footprints.
First, she would max out these progress bars.
Pandora suddenly turned her head, catching Delia’s gaze. Caught staring, Delia hurriedly looked away, her heart fluttering like a trapped bird.
A playful smile played on Pandora’s lips. She leaned in slowly, tilting her body until they were inches apart. They were practically pressed together, Pandora’s warm breath ghosting against Delia’s ear. The tea-haired girl’s face turned a deep crimson, and a faint, tingling sensation spread down her neck.
Delia was undeniably cute, with thick, wavy tea-colored hair and delicate features, but she paled in comparison to Pandora.
Pandora deliberately blew a few stray hairs off Delia’s neck and whispered, “You’ve looked at me several times now. Is there something you want to say to me?”
Delia shrunk back in embarrassment, letting out a few stifled, pleading sounds.
“My, what a cute reaction,” Pandora praised, her voice soft and melodic, her eyes dancing with amusement.
She pressed even closer, her finger rising like she was plucking a harp string as she gently brushed Delia’s chin. At the touch, the tea-haired girl’s back arched instinctively. She squirmed like a bird caught in a palm, her face so red it looked ready to bleed.
Pandora’s smile widened. She loved this—the feeling of making someone nearly faint with just a light touch. Moreover, based on the reaction, Delia’s sensitivity was quite high. She was a girl of “high quality,” and bullying her would surely provide plenty of entertainment.
Pandora glanced at the progress bars in her vision and knit her brows. Hmm? Favorability only rose to 74? The increase was much lower than she had expected.
Had she been too aggressive?
I see… inappropriate flirting can actually hinder favorability growth.
With a rustle of her skirts, Pandora returned to her upright sitting position. Beside her, Delia remained flushed, her pupils dilated and her hands trembling. The half-eaten candied fruit had dropped somewhere in the carriage, leaving only traces of white powdered sugar on her fingertips.
After a moment, Pandora noticed the red bar creeping up slowly. It seemed Delia was reminiscing about the pleasant sensation of their skin touching, her heart squeezed like a tangerine, leaking sweet juice.
75, 76, 77… eventually, it settled at 80 and stopped.
The further it went, the harder it was to move.
Pandora let out a soft breath and closed her eyes, sinking her consciousness into the box within her.
The “Divine Punishment Box” could not be opened from the outside. Inside, it contained a four-leaf flower lock in the shape of a bud, which constantly sensed the “Sin Values” nearby.
Provocation, Seduction, Deception, and Depravity—four sins corresponding to the four petals of the Flower of Evil.
Just now, because she had successfully seduced Delia, the “Seduction” petal had loosened by an imperceptible fraction. Delia wasn’t a witch yet, so she was no different from an ordinary person. Consequently, the Sin Value extracted from her was minuscule. The other three sins were similarly difficult to harvest from commoners.
This was precisely why Pandora had brought the box to the Witch Academy.
Witches specialized in mental cultivation and possessed powerful spirits, emitting Sin Values hundreds or thousands of times greater than those of ordinary humans. Furthermore, compared to other humans who cultivated their spirits, witches were far more wanton and unrestrained, indulging their desires without hesitation.
Pandora mused to herself. While witches were easily provoked or seduced, deceiving them would be no easy feat.
The fairy tales she had been fed via the Knowledge Injector were full of such descriptions—witches were masters of deception, jealous of princesses’ beauty, tricking them into eating poisoned apples, or whispering to ambitious ministers to make them believe they were the chosen ones meant to kill the king.
The easiest one would be Depravity.
These witches had likely already fallen at lightspeed. Was there anyone more depraved than a witch? She estimated that on the very first day, she would absorb enough Depravity Value to make one petal bloom completely.
Hmph. The moment the Flower of Evil fully blooms, the Box will open, releasing calamity and misfortune. And the final, most beautiful ‘Hope’ left inside… will belong to me.
Pandora closed her eyes, dreaming of her “beautiful” future.
Several hours later, they arrived at the Academy.
Pandora pushed the carriage door open and elegantly extended a foot, stepping tentatively onto the fine sand. Her expensive goatskin shoes were immediately soiled by the dust.
She frowned. What a desolate, broken place. Nothing but wind, sand, wilderness, and moraine rocks. Not a sliver of sunlight to be seen. This is worse than the border towns the Holy Kingdom uses for exiles… If not for ‘Hope,’ who would ever deign to come here?
Complaining silently, she trudged through the sand, struggling to maintain her poise. Once she cleared the fine dust and reached the paved road, she looked up to see a winding path hugging a sheer cliff. Her internal grumbling intensified.
Shuffling along step by step, she finally reached the school gates. From a distance, she saw promotional signs lining the road and seniors dressed in elegant, classical uniforms, welcoming the newcomers with smiles.
