Chương 94: Chapter 058 History Repeats Itself (Part 1)

Jack didn't have time to register Cain's death; he'd do it later, if he had a later. He could see the young noble still wanted him dead; despite his uncle's warning, [Assassin's Intuition] was flaring under Fenton's hate-filled gaze. Greaves approached.

"That's enough, Fenton. I want him alive." While Fenton was distracted, Jack activated his last [Fireball] spell scroll and willed it through his stump. His severed wrist stung as magic passed through it. The [Fireball] hit Fenton under the chin. The top of his jacket burned, and his wild, blond hair vanished in the inferno. The young noble gurgled a scream as his face melted like cheap candle wax. Greaves ran, his eyes wide, but it was too late.

Jack grabbed a sword from the ground, sprang up, and rammed it into Fenton's throat. His right palm itched while dripping fat and hot blood spurted across his face as the young noble spasmed. He twisted the blade and fell backwards as another skill filled his soul. Then Greaves was there.

"What have you done!" [Assassin's Intuition] triggered as he grabbed Jack by the throat and lifted him like a rag doll with his left hand. He tore the bloody sword from Jack's hand and sliced the tendons below Jack's right elbow with the skill of a surgeon or perhaps a butcher. Jack screamed, his mind flashing back to the alleyway. His right arm hung limp and useless, like the rest of him. Why have the Gods forsaken me? Greaves slammed him against the cliff face, pinning him to the rock wall with a malicious grin.

His top hat perched over his wispy blond hair. Panic slid down Jack's spine at the fate that awaited him: torture, pain, humiliation, and eventual death. Greaves discarded the sword and retrieved a dagger from his jacket. He held the blade near Jack's left eye. Not again. No. Not again. Jack felt fear overwhelm him as the future repeated itself. No, not again. In a fog of panic, it was all his mind could manage.

"No!" Greaves pressed him into the stone.

"You were supposed to be a new chapter in my book, Jack." He didn't sound angry. The Baron sounded like a father disappointed in his son. Jack opened his mouth, but no words sprang forth, only terror and fear for what was to come. Please… not again… Greaves narrowed his pale blue eyes. His voice was calm, controlled, and… patient.

"Who are you?" Jack was pinned against the rock face by Baron Greaves while the surviving guards stood watch over him or picked through the corpses for valuables. No one dared touch the bodies of the two dead nobles, Baron Argil and Fenton. Nearby, a small pile of weapons and armour grew. One archer tested the pull of Jack's white oak bow. A pantherkin examined Cain's sword with a practised swing. In the background, the deerhounds barked and howled, their handlers struggling to restrain them.

I'm fucked, Jack thought. He's going to torture me again.

"Who are you?" Greaves asked for the second time. He loosened his grip around Jack's throat but still held him pinned high against the rock wall. Jack coughed and gasped for air. His death was inevitable, and he knew it. He thought of his promise to spend more time with his family. Eleven days had passed since his rebirth, and most of it had been wasted on fighting for his survival. I'm sorry, Mom. Jack forced himself to meet Greaves' eyes.

"A-a simple scribe… my lord," he croaked, letting the words drip with sarcasm. Baron Greaves scoffed.

"You helped kill a dozen promising blood mages and used the skills harvest ritual to heal that warrior… You'll be telling me how you managed that, my boy." He shook his head, his eyes hard with disbelief.

"And then you did all this…" He twisted Jack's head so he could survey the carnage spread across the rocky path.

"You want me to believe you're a simple, sixteen-year-old Novice Scribe who became a blood mage less than a day ago? Are you even, Jack, the son of William the Expert Scribe who works under me?" Jack sensed an opportunity. He doubts who I am. Not to save himself, but to save his family. He forced a grin, feeling an instinct in his gut telling him what Greaves wanted to hear.

"Yes, my lord. What's the alternative? That I'm an Apprentice Assassin changeling who's been a blood mage for over a decade?" He chuckled, like he was sharing banter with an old friend. What he was saying felt wrong, fake, and hollow. But he somehow knew that was the right course of action. To his disbelief, Greaves chuckled, and his grip relaxed. He lowered Jack back to the ground.

"Thank you, my lord." Jack drew in a ragged breath, not even understanding how he knew what to say next. Greaves nodded and smiled. The guards relaxed and chatted. What sort of madness is this? He tried to focus pseudo [Heal] on his severed tendons. It was harder to will a skill this way, but he knew it was possible. It failed to activate. Sweat ran down his temple. He didn't have a plan, but knew he'd need one working hand if there were even the slightest chance of escape… or better yet, a chance to kill Greaves.

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"Which circle are you from?" Greaves asked.

"We have a non-aggression pact with the others. Why have you broken it?" Jack was confused, but schooled his expression. What? More blood mage circles? Non-aggression pacts? How many are there? He tried to use pseudo [Heal] on his tendons again. It failed. He forced himself to breathe. He realised [Assassin's Intuition] was silent. He doesn't want me dead!

"Tell me which group you are aligned with, and we'll contact your elders to make a deal." Greaves' voice turned smooth.

"You can still get out of this alive, my boy. Of course, I'll need to know how you healed the warrior." Elders? He thinks I'm from another group of blood mages. And he wants the ability to heal people. Only Master Healers could regenerate lost limbs for ridiculous amounts of wealth. Even nobles like Greaves would wince at the cost. Although it was an accident, the knowledge of how Cain regenerated his lost arm at the cost of a few young blood mages was worth a king's ransom.

It might be possible to replace the three 'sacrificed' blood mages with anyone, or perhaps it only required the blood of blood mages. Jack licked his dry lips, lifted his stump, and forced a smile.

"Maybe I'll teach you the ritual modifications when I regenerate my hand, my lord," he said, waving the mangled limb like it was nothing but a minor inconvenience. He felt the lie was what Greaves wanted to hear. Greaves' expression changed to greedy, almost delighted. Jack tried pseudo [Heal] once more. This time, it triggered. The severed tendons reknit, leaving the flesh sore and barely functional. It wouldn't hold long without rest, but it was better than nothing.

"If I tell you which circle I'm from, what are you offering, my lord?" he asked, attempting to gain more information and stall for time. Greaves smiled like a shark.

"As you're well aware, we've had other rash members of our respective groups. If your circle leader values your life, he'll pay through the nose for your safe return." Jack's mind raced for a plan. They're going to ransom me back to my 'circle leader'. Viscount Tides must be their circle leader. All his [Fireball] and [Frost Breath] scrolls were gone. Not that he expected them to harm the Baron; the noble had half a dozen visible rune-enchanted buttons on his clothing.

The enchantments would neutralise lesser attacks. In Jack's pockets were a couple of blinding powders, a smoke bomb, and one last trump card, a single [Chronos Sphere] spell scroll. And he had his new, mostly untested, pseudo skills. He smiled as he opened his class screen to see what he had to work with. He'd contributed to the death of five more people, including Baron Argil. Please be something useful. [Class Screen-Internal View] Class: Apprentice Scribe (50) Compatibility: 12% …

Class: Novice Archer (1) Compatibility: 1% … Class: Novice Assassin (0) Compatibility: 14% … Class: Novice Blood Mage (0) Compatibility: 34% Novice Primary Skills —Harvest Pseudo Skills (0) ——Pseudo Warrior: Endure Pain (0) ——Pseudo Warrior: Enhanced Strength (0) ——Pseudo Guard: Tireless March (0) ——Pseudo Rogue: Rogue's Tongue (0) ——Pseudo Blood Mage: Sanguine Pact (0) ——Pseudo Knight: Lance Charge (0) Jack's Compatibility scores had crashed.

With one hand missing and the other injured, he couldn't use a bow at all; even a pen would be an issue until his tendons healed. He had twenty-six pseudo skills now, five of them from the most recent encounter. He was already familiar with four of his five new skills, but had no idea what the blood mage skill [Sanguine Pact] might be. No wonder I'm saying what I'm saying. Jack's eyes had widened at the stolen Apprentice Rogue skill.

[Rogue's Tongue] was a skill that instinctively guided the rogue to twist the truth to anyone listening. The rogue would tell them what they wanted to hear. It was as if the skill put words in the rogue's mouth. Jack felt the lie form before he even decided to speak.

"What if I wanted to defect to your circle, my lord? To be mentored by you… personally." Greaves' eyes widened in pleasure. He felt sick. But he pushed on, allowing the new pseudo skill to guide his tongue.

"It wasn't a coincidence I ran into you in the city, my lord." He even managed a laugh.

"I wanted you to notice me."

"That makes sense." Greaves nodded.

"You even seeded the bow with blood strong enough that we couldn't ignore it. Very clever, my boy." What? Whose blood is it?

"Thank you, my lord," Jack said.

"Your recognition is worth more than gold." He wanted to vomit at what he was saying. Greaves frowned.

"If that were the case, why the killings?" Jack didn't even think. The words fell out.

"To show my true worth, of course, my lord," he answered, trusting his new instincts.

"I intended to show how pathetic your new initiates were and ingratiate myself into your inner circle. My original plan was to cull a few of the weak youngsters and heal the warrior before escaping. I'd later harvest the warrior before returning to serve under you, my lord." He shrugged.

"After healing, the damn warrior went on a killing spree and… well, you know the rest. My lord." He can't possibly believe that. Can he? There are so many holes in the story.

"Interesting approach." Greaves mused.

"You did show how useless those eleven were. However, most of those children were family." Jack raised his eyebrows.

"Family," he sneered, letting the words drip like acid.

"Family's temporary. Power is eternal, my lord." He hated himself. That's not what I believe. That's abhorrent. Greaves barked a laugh.

"So true, son. Most are useless chaff. Fenton was a reckless fool. He won't be missed." How mad are these people? Jack checked the new [Pseudo Blood Mage: Sanguine Pact] skill and regretted it. Limited healing from consuming an enemy's blood. He shuddered at the skill he'd gained from Baron Argil. Do all the older blood mages have this skill? They're like vampires. Jack was desperate for power, anything that would allow him to fight. He licked his lips and tasted blood, Fenton's blood.

He felt his wounds heal a small amount, but he'd need a lot more than a few drops to heal his body. By the Gods… I can heal by drinking blood. The thought churned his stomach, bile rising at the grotesque truth of his new skill. He forced his expression into something approaching calm, desperate to hide the horror twisting through him. Greaves frowned.

"From the moment I saw you, I felt there was something… important about you," he explained.

"You've been touched by the Fates. Are you aware of this?"

"Yes, my lord." Jack nodded.

"Others in my old circle mentioned they feel the touch of the Fates on me. I do not know what it means, my lord." Greaves nodded.

"You'd be a great asset to my circle. But…" He gave Jack a long, appraising stare.

"I don't trust you. You came across as a meek child earlier. Now… now I don't know what you are. Are you even a commoner?" Jack nodded.

"You shouldn't trust me, my lord." His lips twisted into a smirk, emulating Polly, and his voice dropped to a conspiratorial rasp.

"If it means more power, I'd harvest you like a worthless beggar… my lord." Fuck. I've gone too far.