Blood Magus

Rosalie stared at the cloaked individual as their fingers tightened around the cloth. She was too far away to make it out, but it almost looked like something was written on it. It couldn’t have been a ritual circle, but there was certainly something special about the seemingly mundane object.

The mannitor quickly closed the distance between itself and the mystery person, Rosalie watching intently. Just as it reached the person, stomping down to trample over their body, they jumped out of the way, just barely avoiding being crushed to death. The moment they landed, as the mannitor charged past them, they leapt to their feet and reached out with the cloth, as if they were attempting to press it against the monster’s skin. However, they were just slightly too slow, and it ran past before stopping and spinning around, readying itself to charge once again.

Just what was this person’s plan? They clearly didn’t have too much in the realm of physical Stats, considering how slowly they were moving, but they seemed to be confident they could defeat this fearsome monster with the help of that cloth. Really, the way they were acting, it did almost seem like they had a Fire Ritual painted onto it. But Rosalie knew it was impossible to move a ritual circle around like that.

Perhaps this person was merely trying to pretend to be a Blood Mage, and didn’t know enough about the Class to know what they were pretending to do was impossible? But why would they fake such a thing? Were they trying to scare someone? But they wouldn’t be able to scare a beast like a mannitor with an act like that, and there wasn’t anyone else around but her and Alfon—and she certainly wasn’t about to be fooled by a flawed imitation of this Class.

The monster charged, and the mystery person readied themself once again. They leapt out of its path right as it was about to hit them, landing more gracefully this time and pivoting to slam the cloth onto the beast’s back leg. Rosalie leaned forward, eager to see what would happen when they did so, but their foot caught on the ground and they tripped, falling into the rubble scattered across the dirt.

She frowned. This person clearly wasn’t a trained fighter. It would only take a couple years of training or a few dozen points in Dexterity before a warrior would have enough control over their body to never make a mistake like that again. Was she wrong, then? Was this just some random insane person mimicking what descriptions they’d heard of a powerful person in town? Did they even have a Class at all?

The mannitor turned around again. At this point, it seemed furious that its previous two attacks had missed, and was ready to gore straight through this poor individual.

She looked over at Alfon. “We need to go kill that monster. That person is helpless. I don’t think they have any defenses against—”

Rosalie was interrupted by a bright light blazing to life in the corner of her vision. She glanced back over at the person and the mannitor, only to find that the monster that had once towered over this hooded individual had crashed to the ground, being eaten alive by flames as tall as the buildings it had once smashed to bits.

The fire burned so bright, she was afraid she may be blinded simply looking at it. It burned so hot that even she could feel the waves of heat wafting off from the corpse of the beast, hundreds of feet away. Nearby chunks of wood from fallen buildings sprouted their own flames simply from being too close to the inferno that covered every inch of the mannitor’s body.

The gigantic monster had died instantly. It hadn’t even had time for its body to hit the ground before the fire had destroyed its body.

Her eyes went wide, stumbling back from the explosion. “W-what…”

“What’s happening?” she heard Alfon say. “I feel heat. Is there an attack from the Blood Mage?”

She continued staring at the burning corpse. “I don’t…But how did they…?”

Her breathing began to quicken. She’d only looked away for a second. What had even happened? Had they finally succeeded in pressing that cloth against the monster? But how had that translated into…this? This instant destruction of such a powerful beast? Even when Rosalie had been powered up by Alfon’s magic, she was nowhere close to being able to kill a mannitor in a single hit.

And the fire—it certainly looked like a Blood Mage’s Fire Ritual at first glance, but she knew for a fact that such a Skill had nowhere near that much killing power. Nor would it have even worked in this situation. Blood Mages couldn’t move their rituals. That was one of the most universally understood things about the Class. So surely, no matter how much it looked like this person was the Blood Mage, surely they weren’t, right? Right?

Besides, with that amount of power at their fingertips, was there any hope left for this town if it was them? Was there any hope left for the empire?

She backed away even further from the scene. “A-Alfon, come with me. I think we need to retreat.”

“It sounds like there has been a crisis. Should I open my eyes?”

“N-no. Keep them closed. I may need your magic.”

“In case of what?”

“In case…I don’t know. In case we’re attacked. I’ll explain later; let’s just go.”

Keeping her eyes firmly planted on the cloaked person, she began backing away, almost afraid this person would see her. She had no evidence they were a bad person—in fact, all she’d seen them do was slay a dangerous monster; they’d done a favor to this town. But something in her chest screamed at her to run.

So, once she was near the edge of the wrecked portion of town, she did. She turned on her heel and sprinted off, a confused Alfon in pursuit after her.

***

Zeth let out a breath, satisfied that he’d been able to kill this last monster.

Now that he was done, he needed to get out of here quickly. Without the protection of his demon or his Hellfire Ritual, and with the possibility of Erza’s return growing more and more likely by the minute, he didn’t want to stick around any longer than he had to.

Before he left, he reached into his belt and drew out some of the bottles he had lining his belt. They weren’t too big, but what space they had was completely empty, ready to be filled with blood. And this mannitor was absolutely full of it.

He filled up the small bottles, submerging the entire things inside a wound that’d been torn open on the gigantic monster’s side, but it obviously had far, far more blood than he could ever fit into a few tiny vials. It had more blood than he’d be able to carry at all—no matter how much storage he had on his person.

Part of him wondered if he should take some time to figure out a method to gather up a bit more, but he didn’t want to spend any longer out in the open like this. So, once he filled each of his bottles to the brim, he turned and fled into the forest, following the familiar path back to his underground base.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

When he returned, Zeth put the blood he’d taken from the mannitor into his storage room, then took a breath. Quite a lot had happened in a single day.

To begin with, Erza was going to be a problem. The man was still alive, and seemed convinced that Zeth was the Blood Mage. He wasn’t sure if Erza’s suspicions had shifted after their confrontation during the mannitor stampede, but Zeth certainly wasn’t going to take any chances. He’d need to do something about that man—and fast, considering how quickly it would spread if Erza started talking.

But Erza’s theory was just that—a theory. He didn’t have any hard evidence. Which meant Zeth had a couple options. Either he could come up with a story to explain what Erza had seen and quell the rumor, or he could silence him in another, more violent, way. Ideally, he could at least attempt option one, while preparing for option two in the worst-case scenario.

So then, he needed two things. First, he needed to research what this mana field stuff was, and what other possible explanations there could be for how he was able to do it without a Class, and second, he needed to draw up a way to fight against this new enemy.

But before he did any of that, Zeth had one more task to complete.

He walked through the various rooms of his underground complex, following the sound of claws digging through stone. After briskly striding down a hallway and into a side room, he found who he was looking for.

The demon that had caused that whole disaster was in the room, carving away at the wall under Zeth’s orders. As he walked into the room, the demon paused, but didn’t turn to meet his gaze.

Zeth came to a stop in the center of the room. “Hey, fuckface.”

The demon continued staring at the wall, like a dog that’d misbehaved.

“So that’s it? We’re gonna pretend that you didn’t just try and destroy my town so you could convince me to let you commit mass murder?”

“There is no discussion to be had,” he said. “Our previous deal still stands. Unless you would like to propose an additional deal with additional payment, then leave me be. I have two hours and nineteen minutes until I am allowed to take the life that is owed to me, and then I will leave.”

Zeth rubbed his fingers along the bridge of his nose. “Should I expect every demon I summon to pull a stunt like that? Because at this point, I’m wondering if it’s even worth interacting with your species ever again.”

He whipped around, furious expression strewn across his face. “Every single one of you slugs believes that you are so very capable of reading those around you. Of reaching a perfect understanding of the people you speak with. I have no possible idea what causes you to come to that conclusion, as in my experience, your people are some of the most idiotic, ignorant beings I have ever been forced to interact with.”

Zeth frowned, taken aback. “What do you—”

“Not everyone is raised in a perfect, quaint little human settlement in the peaceful, weakling First Realm. Not everyone goes about their day assuming they will be given the privilege of being alive the next morning. Some of us have to fight to stay alive. And if you make the incorrect assumption that, if my choices are between slaughtering a few worthless little humans, or lying down and letting myself be killed, I should simply die, then that is not my responsibility. I need strength. I have attempted to barter with you to obtain it. You have refused. If you are not to give it to me, then we have nothing to discuss. I will not hear your pathetic, naive insults about morality when you so clearly do not care about my life whatsoever.”

The demon took a deep breath, but the fury on his face refused to calm.

“I am a soldier. I am fighting in a war. I have no choice but to lay down my life for the empire that has subsumed my homeland. If you wish for me to be kind, and caring, and empathetic to the worthless little whelps that have never known hardship in their lives, then you will simply have to be content with disappointment.”

“I don’t know what you expect,” Zeth said, “but I’m not gonna feel sorry for someone who just tried to force me to let them kill a thousand innocent people. And whose actions did just lead to the deaths of many more.”

He scoffed. “Do not worry. I have long since shed any expectation of understanding from your kind.”

Zeth shook his head. This was exhausting. He absolutely hated working with demons. They were backstabbing, murderous sons of bitches and he didn’t know if he’d ever let one out of his sight again after this. He didn’t know if he’d even bother with summoning them.

For the time being, he left the demon and went to another empty ritual room. He had more important things to do than sit around and argue with a monster.

Zeth needed a way to fight back against Erza in case of an emergency, and he also needed to figure out how everything he spoke about worked. Because evidently, not knowing too much about the theory of magic would get him into trouble far more easily than he originally thought.

Staring at the wall of the room, Zeth gazed at the lines of chalky substance decorating the room—the same ones he used to draw ritual circles. These weren’t for any ritual purposes, of course; these were simple, straight lines that took seconds to draw and would have no uses for any of his Skills. They were just there because of the subtle glow they gave off, allowing him to see in the would-be pitch black structure. It was the lighting system he used throughout the entire complex.

Only, as he stared at the simple lines, Zeth realized something. He’d always known the glow they gave off wasn’t quite the same as any normal light, but never thought much of it. But now, looking at them, he thought the light they gave off was remarkably similar to the light he’d seen being given off from the magic items Erza had shown him. Of course, Erza’s items gave off a brilliant radiance, while these ritual lines were simply a faded glow, but it was the same type.

He stood and walked over to the wall, examining the ritual lines more closely. The chalky substance, wherever it touched the wall, gave off that strange, almost moving light, like it was flowing through the air.

This must’ve been the same mana leakage Erza had been talking about happening to his items. Zeth had never noticed the glow of his lines until he gained some practice with his ritual circles—something he’d always assumed was because he simply wasn’t observant enough. But maybe it was that he hadn’t noticed earlier because he simply wasn’t capable of seeing it?

Thinking back, he’d drawn plenty of ritual circles back in the cave, and that was absolutely a dark enough environment to see this faint light. And back then, he’d had little to no points in the Shaping Stat, whereas now, he’d gained far more. So it was that Stat—or perhaps his general practice with mana—that allowed him to see it, then.

That also meant that anyone with a little bit of Shaping would be able to see a glow coming from his ritual circles, even if he concealed them. That is, they’d be able to see a glow unless he went and patched up those holes in the mana fields like Erza had taught him to. Hopefully, if he did that, it’d make his magic far more difficult to detect. The man had been useful after all, it seemed. Despite his flaws, he definitely had far more knowledge about higher-level magic than Zeth did.

He needed to test this further. After getting a piece of fabric to draw on, Zeth began tracing the lines necessary to create a Hellfire Ritual circle. After around fifty minutes of drawing, he finished it, and gazed at the creation. Just like the lines on the walls, the circle was radiating out bright rays of mana.

But it wasn’t done yet. Next, he closed his eyes and placed his hands on the circle, trying to imagine the object beyond its physical existence. Just like with the magic objects before, within his mind he saw a mesh surrounding the circle, full of tears and holes ready to be patched up.

So, Zeth got to work closing them. He was much better now than when he started out, but working with a ritual circle instead of a normal object presented its own challenges. Not only did the abnormal shape give the mesh a difficult form to work with, but everything just seemed…sloppier. The mesh had more holes, and the object was absolutely pouring mana out of it, unlike the slight trickle of the item Erza had Zeth repair. So much mana was coming out, it was difficult for Zeth to even see what he was doing with the mesh. He assumed that was because he had relatively little practice drawing ritual circles—little mistakes he couldn’t even see were accumulating and creating the mess in front of him.

But he worked steadily regardless, patching up holes as the time passed. It only took a few minutes before he’d gotten done with a few dozen of the smaller holes. Next, he’d move onto one of the larger tears. First, he gripped onto the edge of it, then pulled—

[Vile Focus’s Rank has increased to 9.

+1 Skill Point. You have 12 Skill Points.]

Zeth’s eyes opened in surprise. A Rank-up for Vile Focus? He glanced around the room as if to confirm that he wasn’t, in fact, drawing any rituals. Sure enough, his hands were still placed in the same position on the already-drawn hellfire circle.

It must’ve been that the requirements for Vile Focus were loose enough to consider any working with his rituals to count as progress toward its next Rank? And, judging by how little time he’d been patching those holes in order to get a Rank, it seemed to count far more strongly than actually drawing circles did.

He hesitantly closed his eyes, settling back into routine and getting back to work. But only a few minutes later, another notification came in.

[Ritual Circle Mastery’s Rank has increased to 9.

+1 Skill Point. You have 13 Skill Points.]

He stared at the pair of notifications.

Seemed like he’d be getting these two Skills to max Rank way sooner than he thought.