Chương 84: Chapter 053 Blood Magic Lessons (Part 1)

After drinks, Jack had retrieved his belongings and was amongst a group of eleven nobles walking through Viscount Tides' forest estate on their way to a blood magic ritual. The forest behind the manor was quiet, save for the slow venting of aether-steam from hidden pipes beneath the moss. Moonlight filtered through skeletal trees.

The cold sank through Jack's thin shoes as he walked behind the others, quiver on one shoulder, white oak bow on the other and the green bag that held his hunting outfit swinging from his left hand. There were twelve of them, not including their guards. Six older nobles at the front and the six younger nobles trailed behind their elders like dogs on velvet leashes. Greaves walked at the head of the column, his cane tapping on the paved path. The other older nobles flanked him.

Vampese, Idrisa, Quill, Argil, and Trefin. The six monsters behind polite smiles and impeccable tailoring. There were two guards for each of the older nobles; most of them were beastkin, whose keen eyes and measured steps spoke of constant vigilance. Every so often, one would check Jack out, but [Assassin's Intuition] didn't trigger. Jack's thoughts rattled like loose bolts in a pressure pipe. He knew a blood magic ritual would begin tonight. He would have to chant, and someone would die in front of him.

Whether he was under duress or not, he'd at least in part be responsible for a warrior's death. The copper veins running through the ground pulsed with aether. Somewhere ahead, pipes hissed, regulating flow through this part of the estate. Magic and machinery laced together like the branches overhead; enchanted runes kept this forbidden place safe from prying eyes. His knees felt stiff, like they were trying to prevent him from following the nobles. Nothing about where he was being led felt safe.

His spine tingled, and his jaw was tight as he followed behind the blood mages, like a man being led to his own funeral. They reached a slope, then passed through a ring of old trees. A stone dome and a hint of old, oxidised green copper rose before them, half-hidden, a ruined temple. Faded glass windows, long since shattered, revealed a skeletal frame of exposed stonework and rotting beams. It was a false ruin built to look like a real one. How long have they been operating here?

Jack examined the intricate deception. From a distance, it would appear nothing more than an abandoned ruin, patrolled by a dozen vigilant guards. Inside the fake temple, a ruined stone arch loomed ahead, thick with moss and overgrowth. Runes had been carved into the foundation, hidden beneath layers of false decay. The illusion of age cloaked what was, in reality, a concealed doorway. Quill approached and laid her palms on the stone. A low pulse rippled through the ground.

The hidden door groaned open, a sound of grinding stone and aged mechanisms. Jack couldn't believe what he was seeing. This must have been here for decades. Maybe centuries. Warm air spilt out, heavy with the scent of copper, spent aether-steam, and an unmistakable undercurrent of despair. The lingering stench of rituals long past. He shuddered at the thought of how many victims must have died here. The nobles entered first. Their guards stopped outside without a word and joined those already on watch.

Jack followed, his heart hammering against his ribs at the implication of a blood cult that might have existed for centuries, right under the nose of the Inquisition. Are the entire Inquisition under their control? The long corridor led downward, stone and brass beneath his feet. Aether-lanterns lit the stairwell, each flickering on with blue light as they approached. The shadows beckoned to him as he stepped into a large subterranean chamber and blinked against the soft blue glow.

Aether-lanterns hovered above, tethered to pipes that branched like mechanical ribs across the ceiling. Before him were Viscount Tides and the other five older nobles. Beside them were five more young nobles. Jack's [Assassin's Intuition] triggered multiple times as some of the nobles concentrated on him. The ritual chamber floor was blank. A clean stone circle with no formation or even a hint of white paint. No victim. Not yet. How many people have they killed here? Jack wondered.

Viscount Tides turned to the young newcomers and smiled. His stare lingered on Jack for a few moments, causing [Assassin's Intuition] to flare.

"Tonight is not just a ritual," he said.

"It's a lesson." The other nobles moved into place, forming a loose ring around the centre of the chamber. Boxes were carried in by clockwork automatons. The older nobles opened the boxes. Inside: thin copper jars, crystal phials, and lacquered brushes.

"Formation preparation is not simply artistic," Baroness Idrisa said.

"It's exact and symbolic. A reflection of the will behind the blood." Greaves gestured to Jack.

"With me, my boy." Fenton's face tightened.

"But… you guide me, Uncle?" If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Greaves turned his head.

"You'll work with Trefin." Fenton glared at Jack; [Assassin's Intuition] flared. Jack kept his expression neutral and stepped forward. Greaves passed him a brush. The bristles shimmered; they were already coated in white paint infused with crushed aether crystals from previous use. The smell was sharp, bitter, and metallic.

"Thank you, my lord." Jack held the brush, knowing what came next. Greaves knelt and began marking the outline of one of the runes, humming under his breath. Jack copied the curve of the first stroke to perfection, his [Draughtsmanship] skill activated. When complete, the ritual formation would consist of a set of twelve identical white runes painted on the chamber floor to form a circle. White lines would connect them all to a central rune.

The rune formation layout looked similar to the spokes of a wooden wagon wheel, where the wheel's rim was replaced by a dozen white runes. In the centre, an identical but larger rune was being produced by Viscount Tides and a young man in his mid-twenties. This would be where the bound victim lay, ready for skill harvest. The ritual's purpose was to distribute the targets' death across the circle, so all twelve blood mages gained a pseudo skill and a fair share of the affinity boost. Jack's hand trembled only once.

He masked it as a correction stroke. Greaves smiled.

"You've handled rune paint before, my boy?" Jack shook his head.

"Only theoretical, my lord." Greaves grunted with a frown.

"You learn fast, then."

"Of course he does." Fenton spoiled a rune stroke with a careless smear.

"Give him a sword next and set him against a knight. Let's see how he manages then." [Assassin's Intuition] flared again. Jack glanced at Fenton, who carried a sword at his side. I guess he's a Novice Knight.

"Concentrate, Fenton," Baron Trefin chided.

"The rune paint you just wasted costs more than a bottle of fine wine." Fenton's face flushed scarlet, his anger eclipsing his embarrassment as he glared at Jack once more, resulting in another ping from [Assassin's Intuition]. I need an idiot filter for [Assassin's Intuition]. Jack ignored the others, his focus unwavering on the task at hand. Despite the company, he was enjoying the challenge.

Over the next half hour, the elder nobles lectured, explaining each intricate stroke; they detailed the precise spacing between the twelve runes, the esoteric flow of magic, the siphoning of affinities, and the chaining of pseudo-skills made possible with a dozen [Chronos Sphere] spell scrolls. What fascinating magic. Jack listened, absorbing the new knowledge. The [Chronos Sphere] spell extends the amount of time a blood mage has to extract skills.

Along with the rune formation, it allows for a dozen pseudo skills to be extracted. Amazing. He might not have liked the idea of becoming a blood mage or killing people in cold blood to harvest their skills. However, he loved acquiring new knowledge, and this particular field of study was forbidden. He'd never find this information in a Mercia library. By the end, the white runes gleamed with latent power. Crushed aether crystals pulsed inside the rune paint like dying stars.

Each rune had a [Chronos Sphere] spell scroll at its side, ready to be activated at the right moment. The chamber felt different now. Hungrier. A predatory stillness settled over the air. Two guards entered, dragging a body between them. Jack's breath caught. Cain. Cain was bloodied and gagged. His left arm was bound behind his back. The other was missing the hooked prosthetic; a stark, gaping absence. Cain's eyes met Jack's. Recognition, pain, and raw, unbridled fury spread across his features.

[Assassin's Intuition] flared. The guards fastened Cain to the circular stone slab in the centre with a rope through hooks secured into the stone. One rope for each leg. One for the left arm. There was no ceremony; Cain was new meat for the blood altar. Viscount Tides stepped into the centre of the ring, shoes just beyond the edge of the runes. He gestured to the bound man.

"Cain. Age thirty-nine. Journeyman Warrior. Bloodline unremarkable. No known surviving kin. Condemned for assaulting Viscount Rowlings. The sentence is death. His blood will fuel your growth." Cain snarled behind the gag, his muscles straining against the ropes. Jack's mouth fell open. Did he attack Rowlings for leaving him and Zia on the roadside? Viscount Tides gestured towards the runes.

"Each of you will take position when instructed. Do not speak the chant until ordered. Any mistake will disrupt the harvest." Tides looked around the room and lingered his stare on Jack.

"For those who are experiencing a harvest for the first time, beyond this, there is no turning back." Jack resisted the urge to shrug. Yeah, because if I backed out now, you'd let me return home, right? Greaves patted Jack on the shoulder.

"Impressive work on the rune. I have high hopes for you, my boy. Return to the manor house after the ritual, and we'll talk further about your future." Jack resisted the urge to cringe under the Baron's touch.

"Thank you, my lord." He bowed. The twelve older nobles left. One by one, they exited the chamber, chatting about wine and organising the next deer hunt. In under a minute, Viscount Tides, Idrisa, Argil, Quill, Vampese, Trefin, Greaves, and the other five nobles were gone. The chamber door sealed with a hiss of spent aether-steam. Jack surveyed the chamber. Only twelve remained; eleven young nobles and him. And Cain. Cain's chest rose and fell in fast, shallow bursts. His rage burned through the gag.

One glance at Jack and Jack knew. He believes I'm one of them. Jack sighed. [Assassin's Intuition] triggered, confirming Jack's belief. The young noble who helped Viscount Tides with the central rune stepped forward. He was a dark-haired man of twenty-five with cruel features and a self-important bearing. His voice was clipped and practised.

"Positions. Now." He looked at Jack.

"I'm Kendrel." His tone was icy.

"I've performed sixteen rituals. I lead this circle." He stepped behind one of the twelve outer runes.

"Take your places." He's a mage. Jack had noticed a high-quality wand on his belt. They moved into position, each one standing at a rune. Jack took his spot, the rune cold beneath his boots. Kendrel sneered at him.

"You. Commoner. You better not fuck up. I'll gut you if you ruin this, boy." The other young nobles chuckled and [Assassin's Intuition] flared from almost all of them. Jack offered a timid nod. Let's see who guts who. They fanned out. One noble per rune. Jack took his place opposite Kendrel. He felt the weight of the painted rune in front of him; it was like standing on the rim of a loaded gun. Jack couldn't let Cain die. He pictured little Zia waiting for Cain to visit, but he never did. She'd blame herself.

Cain no longer loved her. He shook his head. No. I won't let that happen. Cain's blood will not be on my hands, but I have to protect my family. A plan began to unfurl in his mind. Fuck. This is a terrible idea.