Jack recognised two of the inquisitors—a man and a woman—they were the ones who had visited his home when he first woke back in his sixteen-year-old body. He watched on with excited panic. On one hand, this could be the end of Greaves and the other blood mages. On the other hand, Jack was now one of them and would likely join whatever fate awaited the other blood mages.
One of the inquisitors presented a large envelope to Viscount Tides.
Jack dropped his fork in shock. That’s mine! He was staring at the envelope containing all the evidence regarding the blood mages that he’d anonymously posted on his way to the hunt. He watched on in horror as Viscount Tides opened the package and proceeded to remove all the evidence he’d compiled.
Thank the Gods I didn’t include the entire unencrypted section of the grimoire. His original plan was to provide overwhelming evidence in the form of a complete copy of the encrypted blood magic grimoire and the section he and his father had unencrypted over twenty years ago. Later, he realised that was a mistake, what if the Inquisition was as corrupt as the nobility they were supposed to police?
Viscount Tides scratched his chin in thought as he looked through the evidence. He smiled as he looked towards Jack and called, “Baron Greaves. Come see this.”
Greaves stopped eating and made his way to the main table while Jack scanned the room. None of the nobles were acting concerned; they continued to eat, drink, and chat as the evidence was perused by Tides and Greaves.
After allowing Baron Greaves enough time to have a brief look through the papers, Viscount Tides smiled. “We need to find the scribe responsible for this work.”
Fuck! Jack clenched his fists, his mouth felt too dry. It was a mistake.
Greaves nodded. “There can’t be more than a few dozen scribes in the city capable of this. I’ll get on it first thing Monday morning.” He glanced towards Jack.
Jack retrieved his fork and forced himself to eat. I’ve fucked up.
“We need to find this scribe,” Tides said. “This could change everything.” He looked excited.
Greaves returned to his own table while the Viscount stood and patted the inquisitor who had presented him the envelope on the shoulder. “Good work.” He retrieved his coin pouch.
Jack couldn’t see how much the Viscount gave the inquisitor, but he estimated it must have been over a hundred gold.
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The inquisitors soon left, and the meal continued like nothing had happened. Midway through dessert—figs soaked in honey and small sugared pears—Greaves leaned towards him, the scent of garlic and fine wine on his breath.
Jack’s body locked up as memories consumed his mind. The alley. The steaming drow blade. The poison. The taste of blood bubbling in his mouth. His helplessness. He smells like death.
“You’ll be reappointed to my department at the Royal Library on Monday,” Greaves murmured. “Same division. Ancient Texts. A perfect cover.”
Jack nodded. “Th-thank you, my lord.” In his past life, it had taken him three years before he was promoted to the Ancient Texts department under his father and Baron Greaves.
“I have a special task for you,” Greaves added. “As a scribe, you can help us find another scribe.”
“Of course, my lord,” Jack replied. Is he going to task me to find myself? He almost laughed at the notion.
“You’ll train in private,” Argil said. “You’ll begin levelling properly with the other young ones.”
Idrisa smiled. “We’ll be watching. We don’t see many commoners find the path to true power.”
The young, blond-haired noble scoffed but said nothing.
Jack took a sip of water to mask the bile rising in his throat.
“You’ll need to catch up,” Quill added. “The others are ahead.”
“There are others, my lady?” Jack asked. His voice didn’t tremble; he was proud of that.
Vampese chuckled. “Eleven young ones. You’ve already met six of them…” She gestured with her gaze to the six young nobles at their table. “You’ll meet the others soon.”
Eleven. Just tonight. Gods. There’s a whole generation of them… of us. “Tonight, my lady?” he repeated. Everything was happening so fast.
“You couldn’t have timed your awakening better, my boy,” Greaves said. “You’ll be the twelfth, and the youngest, of the new group. You’ll bond and level together.”
Jack nodded, recalling the blood magic ritual involving twelve nobles and his new blood mage skill, Blood Bond. Are there only twenty-three of them? I’ll be the twelfth young one. Realisation hit. Shit! They want me to bond with them! He looked at the teenage nobles surrounding him.
The girl across from him narrowed her eyes. “You better not mess this up… commoner. We’ve waited months for this.”
Jack blinked. Mess what up?
“Quiet!” Baroness Vampese snapped in a low, threatening tone. “You will show decorum fitting for a noble lady, Olivia.”
Olivia looked down. “Sorry, Aunt Vampese.”
Jack wondered if all the young nobles were related to the older blood mages. He glanced at Greaves’ nephew, who was still glaring at him.
“Your first ritual is tonight.” Trefin reached for a slice of venison. “Warrior. A big bastard with no family to miss him. Condemned for attacking a noble. He should yield some good skills for the youngsters.”
“The brute attacked Viscount Rowlings,” Vampese added with a chuckle. “Can you imagine? The audacity!”
Fuck! They’re going to kill someone tonight! Jack nodded. “First ritual, my lord?”
Quill reached into her bag and slid parchment across the table. “Instructions. Chants in ancient elven. Memorise it after dinner.”
The tall, blond, hawk-faced teen scoffed again.
Greaves turned to him. “Do you have something you’d like to add, Fenton?”
Fenton frowned. He hesitated, then muttered, “No, Uncle.” He shot Jack a glare that held far more venom than words.
Jack held the stare a moment longer than necessary, then looked down at the documents. His hand itched to draw the dagger at his side. Killing a young blood mage would be a service to the Kingdom.
[Cultivation] [Progression] [Fantasy] [Action] [Anti-Hero]
Synopsis (Click to Expand)
Two paths define the world: The Arcane and the Auric. Damon walks a third: The mind.
But a unique power is not a gift. It is a curse.
“Pain is the chisel. Will is the hammer. Mind is the stone.”