By The Blood

The specks of light had strange silver-like threads connecting them. Some were linked by these threads, while others were not. But Karl noticed that most of the red-colored stars were connected by well-defined, illusory strands, binding those of the same type together.

As he stared, he spotted a transparent speck of light gleaming like silver. A word echoed in his mind: Physical Augmentation.

A flood of knowledge washed over him. He closed his eyes, allowing the information to settle within. Strangely, he didn’t feel startled or the usual annoyance at being caught off guard. Instead, the stars looked familiar—almost as if he was gazing at his own essence. His true self.

Opening his eyes, he muttered, "Mystical component: Physical Augmentation. It enhances strength and all physical attributes, but it’s strange... there’s no cooldown since it also exists as a physical component." He stopped, deep in thought.

Is this the face of the soul? he wondered, watching the stars twinkle around him. Did killing Anderson unlock this? But Fredrick said the face of the soul isn’t a mystical component, but simply the form of the soul that houses all components—both physical and mystical. Another thought occurred to him. Could it be that Karl is in some sealed state? Killing seems to unlock perks that a normal sanguine should already have. But... if he’s been a sanguine for so many years, and with these strange memories and numerous components—many of which I can’t even see—what does that tell me?

His eyes flickered slightly. Karl is certainly greater than what Fredrick and Anette believe. Could he be approaching that... Demi-god class? Karl’s thoughts raced, though he kept his grip on reality. After all, this was all guesswork, based on his amateur understanding of sanguine knowledge.

The bloated woman returned with a bottle, setting it in front of him. It was cool to the touch, with droplets of water running down its sides. He glanced at Anderson's head beside him—it wasn’t exactly appetizing. Looking up at the woman, he said, "Dispose of it." He didn’t feel the need to elaborate.

The woman quivered slightly, her eyes locking onto Anderson’s horror-stricken face. Karl could see her throat bob as she gulped nervously. What an unnatural size, he thought, watching her swallow her fear.

She grabbed the head and pulled a black bag from beneath the counter, placing it inside. Then, with a quick glance to the left, she signaled to a man at a nearby table. He approached, took the bag from her, and left without a word.

So she’s used to doing this, but Anderson’s sudden death likely frightened her. Karl noted with satisfaction. Her fear was good—it would keep her in line.

He frowned suddenly. How am I supposed to kill Galf? He recalled the red beams of light that had almost scorched him. Yes, he had killed Anderson, who had similar power, but... How did I even manage that?

Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought. He’d figure it out when the time came. For now... He picked up the black bottle. It felt cold in his hands. Maybe they used icestone to keep it chilled? he mused.

The cap had already been uncorked, so he tipped the bottle to his lips, downing the liquid inside. He winced. Bitter! But he quickly composed himself, forcing his expression into stoic calm. He sighed, enduring the bitter taste, which burned slightly as it traveled down his throat. Once the bottle was empty, he set it back on the table with a sigh. How do people enjoy this?

He never liked alcohol—neither on Earth nor in this world of Ulshur.

Karl remained seated for a few minutes, and when nothing else seemed to happen, he glanced at the bloated woman behind the counter, regarding her for a moment before getting up. He needed fresher air—something not tainted by the smell of alcohol and sweat.

This mysticism arts... there’s a chance Fredrick knows nothing about them, he thought as he walked. Either that or he intentionally left them out.

Before leaving the hotel, another thought crossed Karl’s mind: The basement still reeks of blood and is a bit dirty. Maybe I’ll clean it later. He could tolerate the filth, but that didn’t mean he wanted to.

Jean opened her eyes, her breathing erratic. She glanced around the room, pushing herself up from the soft bed. Am I alive? she wondered, unsure.

Her hands moved to her cheeks, feeling dried streaks of liquid. She looked at her fingers—blood. She recoiled slightly, wincing as a maddening headache bore into her skull like the incessant screech of a morning sunbird. She doubled over, her mind flashing with fragmented images:

A wolf. An army. Eleven beings. A white-haired figure with blood-red wings. She felt it—her insides burning like a furnace, ablaze with an intense heat. The images seared through her mind, making her thoughts sluggish and distorted. Just then, a familiar voice boomed in her head.

With it, the images began to blur, as if a hand had wiped them away. Jean touched her temples, slick with sweat, her breath misting in the air as the residual warmth still coursed through her body. She sat back on the bed, dazed.

What in Mother’s name was that? She struggled to recall the images. I can’t remember. What were they? Is this corruption from the Astra? But I’ve already been purified... As she remained deep in thought, the familiar voice echoed through her mind again. She grimaced, enduring the pain of Mother’s voice.

After a few moments, she exhaled deeply and reached into her pouch, pulling out a black claw. She stared at it. This caused it? she wondered. Does it belong to someone who experienced those beings? And by sleeping with it, I got pulled into their vortex—experiencing what they experienced? Bewildered, she studied the claw.

The cold finger rested in her palm. Who does this belong to? The boy? Or perhaps someone else who followed him, like that other person? She gripped it tightly. Connecting to a vortex... Bonding with it... So a vortex contains not just events that will happen, but those that had happened? A smile crept across her face. Isn’t it like voicestones? But instead of recording things, it shows you the future and the past? She paused, realizing that her thoughts didn’t quite fit the situation.

Standing up, she paced around the room. The stench of blood and grime was overwhelming, red dust prints tracked across the floor. Who do they think is going to clean this? she sighed, snapping her fingers. Black flames surged from her body, and she vanished.

Soon, the flames silently appeared again. Jean stepped out, holding a stone mop and a bucket filled with water—as clean as it could be. She uncapped a bottle of potion, not entirely mystical, and poured the bluish liquid into the bucket. Using her palm, she swirled the water, making sure the liquid mixed thoroughly. The water began to bubble, turning white and foamy, and a scent of roses and other pleasant, unfamiliar fragrances filled the room.

She dipped the stone-handled mop into the bucket, stirring it like a witch brewing a potion, and began mopping the room. Her mind wandered. The Mother said I shouldn’t sleep with that claw anymore, she thought. But according to the perks granted through true class evolution, Desolation has a certain uniqueness in knowledge. It’s not considered dangerous enough to harm even an advanced class. She squeezed the liquid from the mop with her hand.

But the way I was punished yesterday... She shuddered at the memory. That means the knowledge might even be greater than hazard class. Could it be on the level often associated with wings? She continued drying the wet floor, ensuring all traces of dust were gone.

Maybe even higher than that? She paused, feeling as though she was stepping into the realm of gods. But the Mother saved me. Warmth filled her heart. Praise the Mother! she thought piously as she glanced at the bedsheets.

She bundled up the old sheets and disappeared into black flames, returning with fresh ones. That store always has the best things. Of course, she wasn’t buying any of them. The Mother’s gift has many uses.

Her black flames were not a product of evolution, but rather a Gift bestowed upon her by the Great Mother. I didn’t even know evolution could work that way, she thought, grinning as she used a rag from a "respectable" store to wipe the smudges from the desk and the eternal lamp burning on the side of the room.

I suppose it was the vortex that, when we were spat out by the Astra, led me right to my house—well, one of them at least. Jean felt a chill at the thought of how much control the vortex might have over her decisions. For all she knew, even cleaning this room might not have been her choice but a result of the vortex’s influence.

She sighed at the thought but then shrugged. If something can completely control you and you have no way of resisting, then why bother resisting? she reasoned. If anything, her only way to break free would be to evolve through the classes.

At least he's not a noble, she thought, nodding to herself as she dipped the rag and mop back into the bucket. She stood back, surveying the room, now spotless—an immaculately made bed with red sheets, a clean desk, and a floor free of dusty footprints.

Suddenly, a pang of realization struck her. Won’t this just get dirty again soon? Why did I even bother cleaning it? She sighed. You can take someone out of how they were raised, but you can’t take how they were raised out of them. A canenese remained a canenese.

She stood there for a moment, unwilling to disturb her own work, when a thought surfaced from the now-faded images. "Abraham?" she muttered under her breath. A name? Who? And why did it surface now? It felt important. Perhaps this was a revelation from the Mother herself. Does this mean I should investigate the name? Jean felt certain of it and knew she needed to follow up quickly.

But then came the question: should she actively seek out the information or wait and trust that the knowledge would come to her... through the vortex? She shrugged. If that boy’s vortex is as powerful as I suspect, surely it can pull this information to me. And as for a reward, I can always... repay him. Her body burst into black flames as she vanished. She had decided to head to the theater, where she had heard a new play about the Annihilation Wars was being performed. As for the boy, he hadn’t given her his voicestone mark, so she had no way of contacting him.

But if he ever needed her, Jean trusted the vortex would make it happen.

Numerous Hours Later

For the first time after surviving a battle, Dunn found himself overwhelmed by emotion—a mix of reverence, pride, and aspiration. This was the Golden Knights! The personal protectors of the Sovereign said to be far stronger than any Shard-bearer. It was rumored that a single Golden Knight could take on ten or even twenty Shard-armored warriors.

Surely, that number was exaggerated. Though he held them in reverence and regarded them as the pinnacle of human prowess, the idea of one knight defeating twenty Shard-bearers seemed... unlikely. Warrior, help me avoid blasphemy, he silently prayed.

They were descending a stairwell, stone walls on both sides illuminated by eternal lamps encased in glass. Dunn’s thoughts wandered. Wouldn’t they, at times, want to just die? he mused.

He followed behind the Archon, who in turn walked behind the Chaplain. Though the Archon outranked the Chaplain in terms of military hierarchy, no one would dare walk ahead of the Messenger of God. That would be an act of arrogance—of pride.

Dunn's mind raced. A Golden Knight will be joining us? But why? He had participated in a number of crusades, yet none had ever attracted the attention of a Golden Knight. Is there something special about this crusade? he wondered, feeling a new sense of understanding about the mission.