Chương 80: Chapter 050 From The Ashes Of The Hunt, A Blood Mage Rises (Part 2)

The rhythmic clop of hooves on the forest floor blended with birdsong and the distant yips of hounds. Trees swayed in the warm breeze, their branches whispering secrets above. Shafts of golden light pierced the canopy, catching on ferns and damp bark. Somewhere to the west, a hunting horn let out a distant call. Jack rode near the front, flanked by the older nobles. His borrowed grey gelding snorted beneath him, and the horse's hooves were steady on the mossy trail.

Brass fixtures on the bridle caught the light, glinting with rune enchantments. The older nobles' beastkin guards were never too far away. Although they kept their eyes on him, they appeared less vigilant now; no longer seeing him as a threat to their charges. The six younger nobles followed at a respectful distance, all stiff-backed and tight-lipped after the midday rest. Farther still trailed the six older commoners, and behind those, a retinue of servants.

Silent, watchful, and accompanied by a small automaton porter that rolled along the path, its beetle-like shell exhaling faint hisses of aether-steam as it carried two panniers of spare cloaks and refreshments. Jack tried to ignore the presence of Baron Greaves to his left. It was like riding beside a coiled adder. Every chuckle, every glance from the man made his skin crawl and tempted him to pull his dagger and strike. Still, he held his tongue and his blade, at least for now.

The dozen-plus personal guards shadowing the nobles would cut him down in seconds.

"You held yourself well this morning," said Baron Argil.

"Many a young man turns green after their first kill." Jack dipped his head.

"Thank you, my lord. That was… my first stag." Baroness Idrisa gave a small laugh.

"You've the look of someone who hadn't even swatted a fly before today." If only you knew. Jack offered a fake, embarrassed smile. Give me a few years, and I'll gut you like a fish.

"More ink on his hands than blood, I imagine." Baroness Quill brushed a fleck of leaf from her gloved lap.

"Still, you didn't flinch or vomit. That counts." She looked back at the young female noble who emptied her stomach at the sight of the stag being butchered and shook her head.

"Thank you. My lady… if I may," Jack began, "I had questions about the blood mage class. My lord said it was… different?"

"Curious already?" Idrisa arched a brow.

"That's promising. The class rewards hunger."

"What would you like to know, son?" said Argil. Jack glanced around, lowering his voice as though unsure if it was polite to ask.

"None of the available books on classes includes anything about the class… only that it's forbidden, my lord." Greaves gave a soft laugh.

"Forbidden indeed. The class is powerful, but it requires blood sacrifices to gain power. The crown wants to keep the power to itself." Jack's eyes widened at the implication. What? Is he suggesting the King's a blood mage? Baroness Vampese leaned in.

"We don't get skills like warriors or mages. We get weaker echoes. Shadows if you will… Skills imprinted in blood. Of course, we still have our main class, so on the surface you'll appear to be a simple scribe." Jack nodded. He'd realised this much from his new pseudo skills, but he required confirmation.

"When you kill something with a skill," said Argil, "you have a chance to absorb a trace of it. Not the full power. No, just enough to give you a flavour. Hence, pseudo skills." Jack widened his eyes in mock surprise.

"So… my lord. If someone had, say, a sword skill?"

"You might get a shadow of it," said Idrisa.

"Not enough to make you a true swordsman, but enough to turn a clumsy swing into a serviceable one. Though with enough usage, they will upgrade to the full skill." This time, Jack's eyes widened for real. They can upgrade.

"It's all chance," added Quill.

"Most of the time, a kill gives no harvest." She shook her head.

"And when it does, we don't get to choose; most skills are useless."

"Useless, my lady?" Jack echoed, feigning curiosity. He already had useless pseudo skills from warriors… that is, they were useless as long as he didn't take up a sword.

"I picked up [Improve Yield] over a decade ago," said Baron Trefin, one of the lesser nobles riding beside Quill. He was red-nosed, had large jowls, and held a permanent sneer.

"Makes crops grow better. Never planted a bloody thing in my life. Gods damn useless chaff."

"[Accurate Measurements]." Argil gestured to Jack.

"Picked that up from an Expert Tailor I ran through in the Shays' riots. I can look at a man and tell you his inseam measurements to the inch. You're a thirty-four, aren't you, boy?" He nodded to confirm the measurement. Trefin burst into laughter.

"He's never been wrong! Won me a crate of two-hundred-year-old brandy once."

"Yes… and I never did receive a bottle," Argil chuckled.

"Our next skill harvest," Trefin said, "I'll rectify that oversight." Skill harvest? Jack's interest piqued. Are they talking about a blood magic ritual?

"I gained [De-Bone Chicken]," muttered Greaves.

"Don't ask." Even Jack chuckled at that, though the sound caught in his throat when Greaves glanced his way.

"Of course they aren't all useless." Baroness Vampese smiled.

"Just last month, I acquired [Age Wine]. Despite being a level 0 pseudo skill, it ages a vintage by twenty-five years." She chuckled.

"I have no plans to waste my time ageing wine, but I can improve my own drink." The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. The others chuckled or nodded in agreement. Jack nodded along. They kill people for skills they don't even care about. No wonder this class is forbidden.

"Occasionally, we gain an exceptional skill, my boy." Greaves snapped a branch from a nearby tree. Baron Trefin chuckled.

"He can't help but show off this one." The others laughed. Baron Greaves ignored them.

"Take this." He passed Jack the branch before riding a couple of metres away. Jack held the branch, confused.

"Throw it at me, as hard as you can," Greaves ordered. Jack's eyes widened, and he looked at the guards surrounding them.

"But, my lord. I can't." [Assassin's Intuition] was silent. Since becoming a blood mage, the guards had shown little interest in him. He realised they'd been tasked with agitating him to aid the blood mages' compulsion. Greaves laughed.

"I insist. Throw it as hard as you can." Jack shook his head. He didn't want to die because he threw a rotten branch at a rotten noble.

"The poor boy believes it will harm you," Quill mocked.

"It won't harm me," Greaves said, believing Jack was worried about his safety.

"You have my word." [Assassin's Intuition] was silent. Jack nodded, took a deep breath, and threw the branch as hard as he could, hoping it would at least cause a bruise. The branch flew towards Greaves' right shoulder; he didn't flinch as a shimmering blue shield surrounded his body. The branch bounced off and fell to the forest floor. Jack breathed a sigh of relief while feeling disappointed at the lack of damage. Is that a m age [Shield]? A few of the nobles applauded.

"Lucky bastard," Baroness Vampese chided.

"All I received was a damn [Cleansing] spell from that Master Mage. I could've got that from a green novice." Greaves laughed.

"[Enhanced Shield], the best passive pseudo mage skill there is, my boy."

"V-very impressive, my lord," Jack said, trying to hide his shock. He'd read about the mage [Shield] skill. It was a passive skill available to all mages that would activate from almost any physical impact. Swords, arrows, daggers, or a branch thrown by a teenager. It would stop them all. The enhanced version was only available to Master Mages, and very little information was available regarding the skill. Fuck. I chose the wrong class. Jack realised what this meant.

His plan to train for a few years to level up to Apprentice Archer was doomed to fail. All his arrows would be stopped by the [Pseudo Mage: Enhanced Shield]. Even the drow dagger he'd spent 500 gold on in his first life might have failed; he had no idea what the shield limitations were. He'd die for nothing again. I need a new plan. Are any of my assassin skills useful?

"And no, killing animals won't give you any pseudo skills," said Baroness Quill, steering the conversation back on track.

"They've no skills to offer."

"Even when you receive no skill, you still get something," said Argil.

"Tiny increases to your affinities and Class Compatibility scores. You'll notice it physically. Your reflexes, strength, and dexterity will improve. It's how our older blood mages grow so strong over the decades." Despite the shock at realising his plan to kill Greaves was a no-go, Jack feigned amazement.

"That explains it, my lord. I thought it was just excitement after the hunt. I… I felt something, a kind of warmth."

"That's the blood working," Idrisa said, nodding.

"It's subtle, but it adds up." Jack smiled. They'd confirmed what he'd already guessed and provided important new information. So that's why my Class Compatibility has increased, he thought. It's no wonder the class is forbidden; it must be tempting to murder…

"What's your Blood affinity at now?" Greaves asked. Though there was no rule against asking someone about their affinities, it was considered rude to do so. I have to answer, but what do I tell them?

"I haven't checked recently, my lord," he lied to buy time.

"Please give me a moment." Jack accessed his affinities, and to make it more plausible, he acted surprised.

"It-it's gone up, my lord." He faked a stammer.

"It's at 31%. I believe it was at 19% when I selected the Novice Scribe class, my lord." Greaves nodded.

"That's a respectable percentage, my boy." He turned to the others.

"We might have a prodigy among us." The older nobles nodded in agreement, and some of the younger ones looked annoyed. [Assassin's Intuition] pinged from their direction. Jack frowned. I'm glad I lied. If 31% is a prodigy, what would they say to the true value? Why is it 56%? W hat does it mean? His thoughts were cut short by a horn blast echoing ahead. Three quick notes.

"That'll be the younger lords' chance," said Quill.

"Let's see what they make of it." They slowed, allowing the six young nobles to ride ahead with bows in hand. The older nobles watched with vague interest as the youths spread out across the trail, waiting for the kill to be presented to them. Jack watched the six young nobles with interest as they prepared for a deer to be driven their way by the hounds. One of the younger teens dropped an arrow and blamed the arrow. Another held the bow too high.

Another had nocked and drawn an arrow back, but was aiming through a horse's head! Jack shook his head. They're useless. Imagine what Toma could achieve with their privileges. From the underbrush ahead, a young buck burst into the clearing. The deer had sleek, strong, and proud antlers. It would grow into a magnificent stag one day… if it survived. The deerhounds were still far behind.

"Wait for the dogs, you fools," muttered Argil. The young nobles didn't wait. Arrows flew. One thudded into a tree, another glanced off a root, and a third sailed high into the branches. The closest missed the buck by a few inches. The startled deer darted away, vanishing back into the forest unscathed. One of the young nobles spurred his mount to chase the young buck. Greaves yelled at the tall, blond, hawk-faced teen as he headed into the trees.

"Fenton! Fenton, stop! By the Gods. Fenton!" The young noble ignored the calls. Jack stared with his mouth open. I thought nobles received the best training? A moment later, the hounds spilled into the clearing, looking confused.

"Impatience," said Baroness Idrisa with disdain.

"Every one of them is more eager than trained. Fools."

"Might as well have thrown their boots," grumbled Baron Argil.

"I've seen drunk bakers shoot straighter," said Trefin. Baroness Quill laughed.

"I've seen toddlers with better form." Fenton returned from his lone deer chase.

"Fenton!" Greaves called to him as if the teenager were a misbehaving hound.

"Here. Now!" Fenton rode over with a sheepish look.

"When I tell you to stop, you will stop!" Greaves chastised the young noble.

"Do you understand, boy?" Fenton glared at Jack, who was biting his lip, trying not to smile.

"I thought I could get the buck on my own, uncle."

"That's your problem," Greaves said, shaking his head.

"You don't think. You will follow my instructions or leave the hunt. Do you understand?"

"Yes, uncle," Fenton replied, still glaring at Jack like this was all his fault. [Assassin's Intuition] triggered.

"It's like dealing with an unruly dog that can't control his instincts," Baron Trefin said.

"We don't chase deer like common dogs, Fenton. We hunt them with patience. Preferably with a glass of wine in hand." The older nobles laughed, while nearby servants took the hint and began preparing glasses of wine for the nobles. Jack stifled a chuckle. Baron Greaves glanced at him.

"Something amusing, Jack?"

"No, my lord," Jack said, schooling his features. Don't let your guard down. They aren't your friends. But the damage was done; [Assassin's Intuition] flared. Fenton's knuckles turned white as he gripped his bow and reins. The tall, blond, hawk-faced teen, with flushed cheeks and a wounded pride, scowled at Jack. A deeper seed of resentment had been planted.