Academy’s Genius Swordmaster

Chapter 71: Blood Hook (3)

Ophelia placed her hand on Ronan’s cheek. Gradually, mana gathered in her palm, emitting a chilling light.

“What the…?”

Cita’s eyes widened in surprise. Ophelia withdrew her hand, and Ronan touched his own face, furrowing his brows. The contours beneath his palm felt different from usual.

“Darn it, it feels strange. Are you sure it’s done correctly?”

“Yes… it’s perfect. I used a catalytic spell. If we go off track, I’ll cast it again for you.”

“Ugh…”

Seeing Cita’s disgusted expression, it seemed to have worked as intended. Ronan and Cita left Philleon, their hearts pounding, to arrive at their destination on time.

***

It was a crescent moon night, with a mischievous glint in its eye.

Mist rose over the swamp covered with fallen leaves. Dead, white trees gestured under the moonlight.

About a third of the swamp, suitable for walking, was covered with short, mossy grass. The agreed-upon meeting point for the exchange of pure blood’s essence was a small mound rising in the middle.

It was once a forgotten ancient tomb, now only remembered in the annals of history. Two burly men were guarding the tomb entrance, serving as gatekeepers.

——————

PR/N: Annals- the record of an activity or organization, arranged year by year, or a history that covers a long period of time.

The man with a stubble beard scratched his head and spoke.

“Who did they say was coming today? He’s awfully late.”

“You forgetful fool, don’t you remember? It’s Jhordin Stonesong.”

“Oh, right. Was he a mage?”

“Not just any mage. He was a legend who once sparred with the Grand Swordmaster in the past.”

The man with curly hair sighed. Working with such a careless partner was embarrassing.

‘Why did the masters bestow such honor of serving them on such a lowlife like him.’

He kept his gaze fixed straight ahead and spoke. He spoke, his gaze fixed ahead.

“The masters are looking forward to this transaction, so keep your wits about you. Do you have the scroll with you?”

“Yeah, yeah, how many times are you gonna ask? Don’t worry too much. No matter how high and mighty that mage acts, in the end, he’s just a human…”

“Hush! Look, there he comes.”

The man with curly hair pointed forward with his finger. In the distance, a single flickering torchlight approached.

Soon, a man carrying a torch emerged from the darkness. He was dressed in a long robe that covered him from head to toe, making it impossible to see his face. The gatekeepers, brandishing their swords, approached him.

“Are you Jhordin Stonesong?”

“Yes.”

The stubble-bearded man frowned. It was a horrific voice, reminiscent of a crow being strangled. The man with curly hair, holding up a portrait of Jhordin, spoke with gravity.

“We need to confirm your identity, so please remove your hood.”

“Very well.”

The mysterious man obediently flipped back his hood, revealing a rather plain, gaunt face.

Deep-set blue eyes, preserving some remnants of past beauty, with thick and distinct eyebrows. The man with curly hair compared his face to the portrait and then sheathed his sword.

“We’ve confirmed it. You are the Tower Mage, Jhordin Stonesong.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Please enter. The honored guests are waiting.”

The man with curly hair led him into the mound. The stubble-bearded man, scrutinizing Jhordin’s appearance, muttered sarcastically.

“Quite skinny, aren’t you? I thought you would be a monster or something.”

“Shut up. Don’t be rude to the guest.”

“It doesn’t matter; just open the door.”

“Ah, sure!”

The gatekeepers opened the stone door, and a cool breeze rushed in from the revealed passage. Jhordin’s forehead tightened as the stench of blood pierced his nose. The man with curly hair pointed inside the mound.

“Just keep following the main path. The interior is intricate, so be cautious.”

“It’s larger than I expected… I have some difficulty in the dark. Could you guide me, perhaps?”

“That… we have other duties to attend to. I apologize.”

The curly-haired man politely lowered his head. It seemed that both of them had separate tasks beyond guarding the entrance. Jhordin sighed and asked.

“Well, It can’t be helped. Are there no personnel outside, apart from you two?”

“Well? Um… that’s correct, but…”

“Good. I’ll give you a little gift.”

Jhordin rummaged through a small pocket and pulled out a scroll, no larger than a finger.

Without giving the gatekeepers a chance to question, Jhordin activated the scroll.

Swoosh!

A translucent cube enveloped the three of them, instantly silencing the noise from outside.

“This is… Silent…”

The curly-haired man was about to say something when a glimmer flashed from under Jhordin’s robe.

With a sensation like the wind brushing past one’s throat, the world tilted for him. Suddenly, the curly-haired gatekeeper’s head fell to the ground. The eyes of the stubble-bearded man, who had been yawning, widened as if about to pop out of their sockets.

“Ugh! Wha… what is this?”

“He’s dead. Was he even human?”

Jhordin, whom they had mistaken for a simple subordinate, leaped forward and swung his arm.

Slash!

A red line appeared on the stubble-bearded man’s throat at the same time the blade drew a graceful curve.

“Gaaah!”

“You seem to have had a bit more blood than expected.”

Instinctively, he noticed that his head had detached from his body. The regeneration he had obtained from selling his soul to a vampire was preventing instant death. Stroking his chin with his right hand, the stubble-bearded man reached into his pocket with his left and retrieved a scroll he had kept there.

“Uwaaaargh!”

“Ah, damn, that was unexpected.”

The stubble-bearded man screamed as he tried to break the seal on the scroll. Jhordin calmly threw a projectile at him.

Slash!

Both his arms were severed in mid-air, alongside his head which had been severed long ago. Witnessing the collapsing body, Jhordin breathed a sigh of relief.

“Using the silence spell worked out well.”

Things almost went awry from the very beginning. What he had used was a tiny Silent Scroll he had received as a gift from Shullifen.

Then he noticed a scroll rolling in the puddle of blood. It was what the stubble-bearded man had been desperately trying to unseal. Jhordin, or rather, the polymorphed Ronan, raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“What’s this?”

Its purpose remained a mystery. Just as Ronan was about to take the scroll, the bundle string broke, and the magic inscribed on it activated.

Whoosh!

A sudden mana barrier rose, blocking the stone entrance. Ronan chuckled.

“Well, that made things easier.”

It seemed they had planned to seal the entrance, preventing Jhordin from escaping. The items they had prepared against Jhordin appeared to be quite robust. It seemed like even they couldn’t break through it.

Ronan, with a cautious mind, checked the curly-haired man’s sleeve just in case. To his surprise, he found another scroll hidden there. Grabbing the scroll, Ronan lifted his robe and said,

“Cita, clean up.”

“Beahh!”

Cita withdrew its face from within the robe. It was one of the reasons why he had worn an ill-fitting robe.

Cita, after confirming the bloodstains scattered around, spread its wings. The blood that remained in the bodies and even the tiniest specks on the robe turned into droplets and rose into the air, being absorbed into Cita’s body.

In just a few seconds, the scene was cleaned up. Ronan, satisfied with the sight of the desiccated corpses, chuckled.

“Good job. This should keep the vampire’s attention off us.”

It was a precautionary measure to avoid attracting the vampires’ notice. Although the smell of blood was already strong inside, there seemed to be no chance of getting caught. Still, it was best to be cautious. Having completed its task, Cita retreated back inside his robe. Ronan continued down the corridor.

“You’re doing well.”

The passage continued underground, and intricate stonemasonry was evident. Despite being in a swampy area, there were no signs of water seepage. Suddenly, Ronan realized that the architectural style used in this tomb was similar to the temples of Sarante.

“Could it be… just a coincidence?”

The interior was quite complex, resembling a tomb where a building had been buried underground.

Following the instructions of the curly-haired gatekeeper, Ronan followed the main corridor. The scent of blood grew stronger the deeper he went. Soon, his vision widened, revealing a spacious area reminiscent of a banquet hall.

“I’ve arrived. It’s really him, Jhordin Stonesong.”

“Dealing with humans is quite rare.”

“He’s too thin. Can’t even provide three servings of blood.”

In the middle of the banquet hall, a long stone table, about 10 meters long, was placed. Around it, twenty young men and women sat, all of them possessing striking beauty.

‘There are quite a few of them.’

It wasn’t too difficult to discern that they were all vampires. Forty crimson eyes stared at Ronan. Under their sticky, licking gazes, Ronan furrowed his brow.

“Uhh… uhh…”

“Stay still. The guest has arrived.”

On the table, three individuals were bound, two women and a man. They were all bleeding profusely from their necks and wrists.

Ronan was relieved that their heads were covered with sacks. It would be challenging to maintain his composure if he had to see their pleading faces. At that moment, the vampire seated at the front stood up.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Jhordin Stonesong. I am Zwei von Arnstafel, leader of the Blood Hook.”

Zwei was a blond young man. His flamboyant name indeed suited the ostentatious leader of what appeared to be a mosquito club. He pointed to the people on the table as he spoke.

“It took longer than expected for you to arrive, so we started our meal. Would you like to join us now?”

His voice was as smooth as butter, leaving a strong impression. Ronan did not respond. He examined the faces of the vampires around him, visibly disgusted, and clicked his tongue.

“You brought quite a crowd for a mere business deal.”

“Please understand. Many of us wanted to meet you.”

“Is this everyone who gathered?”

“Yes, indeed. It’s the full assembly.”

“And the essence of the Pure Blood?”

“Of course, we’ve brought it. As soon as the transaction is complete, we will extract and process it for you.”

“Very well. What do you want?”

“Join us as one of our family members.”

A moment of silence fell. It was as Ophelia had expected. Ronan responded with a deadpan expression.

“…You must be joking.”

“We are not asking for an immediate decision. We will give you a ten-year reprieve. Once you have formed the Blood Pact and the time comes, you may come to us.”

“So you want me to be a slave to your vampire kind.”

“We are aware that you have come to us out of desperation. When mortals seek the essence of pure blood, isn’t it nine times out of ten to save a precious person?””

Ronan’s face momentarily froze. Zwei noticed this and grinned with a disgusting smile.

“Haha, it seems I hit the mark.”

“Shut up.”

“Well… if this deal falls through, obtaining the pure blood Essence will be impossible anywhere. It took us a long time and considerable effort just to find it.”

Zwei replied politely. Based on Ronan’s conversation with Ophelia, it seemed that what she said might be true. Ronan twisted his lips.

“What happens if I refuse?”

“It would be a shame. You probably won’t leave here in one piece.”

“What?”

Snap!

Zwei suddenly flicked his finger, and at the same time, twenty vampires rose to their feet. Silently, they closed in on Ronan, surrounding him.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“Don’t do anything foolish. You can sense the mana disruption, and there are treasures scattered about that even a mage of your caliber can’t ignore.”

Ronan hadn’t noticed at all. Now that he listened closely and observed, he could sense an ominous aura emanating from every corner of the banquet hall. Zwei bared his fangs and grinned.

“Even if you manage to escape using magic, you will suffer irreparable damage. Your magic circles may collapse, rendering you unable to use magic again.”

“So you were prepared in advance.”

“It’s your misfortune that you were blinded by desperation. Jhordin Stonesong, as a fellow mage, it would be wise to accept our offer.”

He could feel the life force surging around him. The vampires were on the brink of launching an attack, their eyes flashing with a predatory hunger. Ronan, who had underestimated their preparations, dropped his head.

“…I’ll accept the offer.”

“An excellent choice. Now, let’s proceed with the Blood Pact.”

Zwei reached into his pocket and pulled out a crimson piece of paper, which was made of the finest quality parchment, commonly used for most magical pacts. Ronan sighed and was about to prick his fingertip to sign it.

“Wait… before that, I need to see the pure blood essence. Who is the vessel?”

“You’ll find out once the pact is complete.”

“Vampire, remember that we’re making a concession here.”

Ronan glared silently at Zwei. The young leader of the Blood Hook, aware that it wasn’t just an empty boast, sighed lightly and tapped his chest with his right hand.

“Fine… I understand. I’ll show you.”

As he raised his hand, a crimson mana lump emerged shakily. It matched the description Ophelia had given. Ronan nodded in approval.

“So, you’re the vessel. Are you showing your leadership qualities?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then. It took a long time.”

“What?”

Without warning, Ronan lifted his robe and drew his blade from its sheath at incredible speed. The razor-sharp sword flew towards Zwei’s limbs, severing them nearly simultaneously. His two limbs detached from his body almost at once.

“What…?”

“Looks like you might have been in real trouble if I were the real Jhordin.”

Zwei’s eyes widened in shock. Just as the vampires surrounding them were about to react, Ronan rotated his body widely and swung his sword. With a whoosh, five heads flew into the air almost simultaneously.

“Arrrgh!”

“Zw-Zwei!”

Late screams erupted along with fountains of blood. Ronan stepped on the headless body and quickly leaped away. The vampires, who had belatedly tried to encircle him, found that he had already escaped. He breathed a sigh of relief as he watched the headless bodies move as if they were still alive.

“These damn mosquito bastards…”

Ronan’s movements were unlike those of a magician. In his hand, he held a black and translucent sword. The sudden calamity left the vampires in shock, and they shouted in disbelief.

“A sword…?!”

“For God’s sake, you said he’s a magician. What’s going on?!”

“Leader!! Snap out of it, leader!!”

“You idiots, this is what happens when you let prejudice cloud your judgment.”

At that moment, Cita, who had been hanging on Ronan’s back all along, spread its wings and took flight, landing right in front of the entrance of the banquet hall.

“Beahh!”

“Did it ever occur to you that Jhordin could be good with a sword?”

“That’s…!”

The faces of the vampires who had been blocking the entrance turned pale. Dozens of silver-made stakes dangled around Ronan’s waist. Ronan untied a scroll he had taken from one of the guards’ bodies and opened it.

“Whatever… don’t think anyone’s getting out of here alive.”

As the scroll unfolded, a mana barrier shot up, sealing off the entrance of the banquet hall. Ronan gripped his sword and charged towards the vampires.

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