Chương 78: Chapter 049 The Stag And The Scribe (Part 2)

Greaves dismounted beside him and gestured towards Jack.

"You'll want this kill," the Baron said, smiling.

"A true hunter finishes what they've begun."

"Yes, my lord," Jack said mechanically. He retrieved his bow from his back. Greaves shook his head.

"Too clean and easy. The blade is more personal. A rite of passage, not just a kill. And it's yours, my boy." He placed a hand on Jack's shoulder. Jack didn't flinch. He dropped his white oak bow without hesitation.

"The Baron knows best." His fingers closed around the hilt of his dagger for the first time that day. All his anxiety, hatred, and rage poured into the dagger as he drew the blade clean from its sheath. It felt right. The Baron stood at his side. So close, Jack could see the pores on the noble's grinning face. For a fleeting moment, he considered striking Greaves and the others, but only for a moment. It felt wrong to attack them; they'd treated him well. [Assassin's Intuition] echoed far away.

Baron Greaves frowned and narrowed his eyes before relaxing. Jack felt compelled to kill the stag. I have to, for my family. The deer met his gaze; there was no fear left, only pain and acceptance.

"You must, Jack," said Baroness Vampese, her voice absolute.

"The Fates chose you. Take your kill." Jack nodded.

"I want the kill." Baron Argil leaned in.

"You must spill blood to claim your place." Jack felt something pulling him, but it felt wrong. He stepped forward. It still felt wrong, but he couldn't stop. The predators were no longer beside him; they were guiding him… controlling him. The dagger felt heavy. The stag made a low, bubbling sound. Greaves placed a hand on Jack's shoulder.

"We're with you, son. Join us." Jack nodded and took another step forward; this one felt right. One quick stroke, that's all it would take. The Baron knows best. He's a good man. I should listen to him… follow him. Something didn't feel right; it was like a tide trying to drag him under where his true self would drown. He'd been feeling it since meeting with the nobles earlier, as if he was being watched by predators from a distance. But now they were nearby and overwhelming. They had him by the throat. No…

not his throat. They held his hands in guidance. Jack clenched the dagger in his hand and felt comfort from the rough handle and something warm over his heart. He remembered the vengeance he sought… Mom… Justice. Dad… Balance. Polly… Revenge. Richard… Retribution. Zia… Family. Jack remembered what mattered most. Greaves will fucking die! His mind screamed as [Assassin's Intuition] flared brighter than it ever had. The haze shattered in an instant as though waking from a long dream. What did they do to me?

He shook his head to clear his mind and received a notification. [System Message-Internal View] [Novice Assassin Skill Levelled] [Assassin's Intuition (1)] Jack dismissed the message. Stay in control… don't let them know. Fuck. They had me. By the Gods, the bastards had me. He knelt beside the stag and felt empathy for its suffering. Poor thing. Its hide was slick with blood, its chest rising in shallow breaths. It was going to die, but it wouldn't be fast.

He drew a breath, remembering how Greaves had taken his time killing him. His fingers curled tighter around the blade. Placing his left hand on the stag's neck, he felt a tear trickle down his cheek. I'm so sorry. If only you were Greaves… And then… one clean thrust to the heart and the blood spilt across his hand. He held the blade in place as a wave of power surged through him… warm, alive, too much like pleasure. His palm itched where the blood-red rose thorn had scratched him at Demeter's temple.

And just like before with the orc warrior, the goblins, the rat-faced rogue, and the swordsman, energy passed through him. The stag shuddered under Jack's touch as its warm blood poured from its chest and over his hand. Then the deer lay still. The pulses of power he felt stopped, and his palm stopped itching. It happened again? Baron Argil leaned in towards Greaves and whispered, "He's awakening… You were right. He's one of us." Stolen story; please report. Greaves chuckled.

"Of course I'm right. I felt it the moment I saw him." Fatigue vanished. In its place, something inside him shifted… like bones healing in a new shape. Not just changed, but refined, improved, and empowered. It had happened before with the other kills, but this time he felt it clearly. He was benefiting from the kills. He wasn't sure how, but he knew he got something from this. Something primal. The older nobles applauded, like patrons at a theatre.

The commoners joined in with the applause like obedient automatons. The younger nobles didn't hide their disappointment or growing disdain. [Assassin's Intuition] flared, but this time Jack felt a general direction. He looked towards the young nobles; they had hatred in their eyes.

"Well done," Greaves said, placing a hand on Jack's shoulder.

"Well done, my boy." Jack gritted his teeth at the touch but controlled himself. They tried to do something to me. Control me. He felt the rage within grow. He wanted nothing more than to activate [Backstab] and [Assassinate] and take the bastards out. Don't let them know it failed. Stay calm.

"An elegant kill," Baroness Quill added. He forced a smile and swayed, as if his body didn't belong to him for a moment. The forest looked too sharp and bright. He stood, wiping the blade with a cloth handed to him by a servant. He trembled, but not from exertion. As he wiped the blood from his hands, he caught Greaves watching him. Not with triumph, but pride. Everything felt wrong. And yet… also right; something had changed about him. He'd done what they asked and killed what they'd broken.

But he hadn't just ended a stag's life. No. He'd given them something they wanted. Confirmation that he was one of them. Jack could see it in their grins. He could see it in the way they looked at him and how the six nobles smiled and nodded to one another. Baroness Idrisa murmured, "The stag was the first. The next will be… easier." They no longer saw him as potential prey. They saw him as one of them. Another blood mage, and worse…

he wasn't sure they were wrong, and he was too afraid to check his system interface. Jack knelt beside the stag's corpse as the panting and excited hounds were held back from the kill. The warm, metallic scent of blood lingered in the clearing. He took a few moments to compose himself before moving away. Servants in House Tides' livery approached with an aether-powered butchering rig. A thin line of spent aether-steam puffed from its side vents as the contraption came to a halt.

A pair of men descended from its platform, already drawing blades. Skin split with long, clean cuts. Sinew and muscle were separated from bone with ritualistic efficiency before being stored in chilled compartments. As the deer was broken down, a brass trough was slid from the back of the rig. The entrails were dumped inside for the hounds, who yipped and howled in excitement. A few servants wrestled the more aggressive dogs into submission using polished stun-collars that sparked with contained aether charges.

The dogs yelped in pain as they calmed down and waited for their masters' permission to eat. Nearby, a young noble girl retched behind a tree. The older nobles laughed. Jack stood apart, the smell of blood clinging to his hands. His blade was already sheathed, but his pulse hadn't settled. Behind him, the brass-mounted aether pipes along the butchering rig vented in soft clicks, matching the cadence of his heartbeat. Baron Greaves approached with a wolfish grin.

"Tradition, my boy." He dipped two fingers into the pooling blood on a slab of bark and smeared a long streak across Jack's forehead. Jack's stomach turned, and he wanted to recoil at the touch, but endured, forcing himself to remain still. [Assassin's Intuition] triggered from the direction of the young nobles. He avoided looking their way. A second streak followed, this one from Baroness Vampese, who daubed the blood across Jack's cheek with a reverent expression.

"One for the Fates," she whispered, her gloves spotless despite the mess.

"One for the bond," added Baron Argil, marking Jack's other cheek. The rite continued. Six nobles in total. Each smear of blood felt colder and heavier than the last. This wasn't honour; it was branding. Jack forced a smile. He dipped his head like an obedient pup, but inside, he was seething. I hate all of you. It felt ceremonial and religious, but most of all, it felt wrong. Fuck. How the hell am I going to get out of this mess?

All the while [Assassin's Intuition] was flaring from the direction of the young nobles. The group of six younger nobles watched from a distance. One whispered something to another and received only a scowl in return. Jealousy simmered just below the surface, mingling with anger and disbelief. The commoners hung back farther still. Jack caught Jasmin's father, Alric, giving him a measured, wary look before turning away. None approached or congratulated him. Good. Keep your distance. You don't want any part of this.

Greaves clapped him on the back.

"You've taken the first step, Jack. Most don't even know the path exists." Jack gave a neutral nod, the Baron's touch no longer triggering [Assassin's Intuition].

"Thank you, my lord. It's… a lot to take in."

"A new world always is," said Baroness Quill. Her voice was soft and dangerous. Throughout the day, they'd been guiding him on a new path. Jack understood that now. He wasn't being embraced as a noble. No, this was something far more dangerous; they saw him as one of their kind. A blood mage. They believed he'd joined their secret circle, a blood cult hidden behind feasts and rituals. They believe my mind is broken. Jack had realised they'd been using a skill to prepare him for the blood mage class during the hunt.

He'd felt it take hold, and for a moment they had him, but his hate for Greaves had cut through it like a dagger. Let them have their illusion. I'll let them see what they want to see. He smiled.

"I think I understand now," he said.

"You're special… you're the chosen ones." In a way, he wasn't lying. He could feel the connection. Weak, but present. Blood magic thrummed through a weak bond between them. He could sense them, and they, perhaps, could sense him. Baron Greaves' eyes gleamed like an old wolf's.

"You're quick. That's good, my boy. Very good." He squeezed Jack's shoulder.

"But you have one thing wrong." He leaned close, his breath hot with wine." We are the chosen; welcome to the fold, son." Jack wanted to rip his throat out, but nodded and turned to where the stag's head had been mounted on a raised stone. Two dogs fought over a chunk of discarded meat, snarling until one snapped its jaws around the mass and bounded away with a triumphant growl as the aether-rig vented behind them.