By The Blood

They remained like this for a while, tension thick in the air. Karl’s eyes began to itch with irritation. He had kept them open for too long, but he couldn't afford to blink—he refused to be the one to break first. Even subtle gestures like that could give off impressions he wanted to avoid. In any situation, Karl aimed to either be dismissed—overlooked, allowing him to move unnoticed—or to stand out just enough to command respect and control. Power and control were what he needed to achieve his goals.

"How long is this going to last?" A soft voice cut through the silence, breaking Karl’s concentration. Thankfully, it wasn’t him who lost composure first. The man in white glanced toward the source of the voice, and Karl followed suit.

On the bed, the red-haired woman had wrapped the sheets around her arms like delicate ribbons. The effect made her look both graceful and dangerous. Karl frowned. This woman...

The Vixen. Yes, he knew the type. Vixens weren’t rare or mysterious; the first time he'd heard of them was from the flesh cultivator, who had dismissed them as common whores. But something was off about her smile now. It seemed forced as if she was suppressing deeper emotions. Karl remembered the strange space filled with white light where she had also been present. That hasn’t happened before. Is she frightened because of it? Is that why the man is sizing me up? he wondered.

"Are you really going to leave her like that?" the red-haired woman asked, gesturing toward the injured woman in the corner. Karl had nearly forgotten about her. She hadn’t occupied much space in his thoughts—injured or not, he couldn’t heal her, so why worry about something beyond his control? She had lost a hand, and nothing he did could change that. Still, he glanced at her, noting the white cloth now soaked in blood, dripping steadily. If this keeps up, she'll die, he thought. His eyes shifted between the two sanguines. Can either of them heal her? If I asked, what would they think?

Before he could decide, a knock suddenly echoed through the room. Startled, Karl’s eyes darted to the door. The knocking came again, louder this time.

Not knowing where he was, Karl couldn’t guess who might be at the door. For all he knew, it could be the men with the strange eyes or worse. His mind raced through countless scenarios, none of them ending well. He imagined the worst if they opened the door, picturing a confrontation with those eerie figures.

Silence hung in the room as they all looked at each other, waiting for someone to make the first move. Opening the door would make me seem confident, but it would also expose me to whatever threat was on the other side, Karl thought. While he disliked showing weakness, survival was his top priority.

The tense standoff stretched on for what felt like ages until the red-haired woman finally spoke up. "Whenever one of you decides to open the door, go ahead. If anyone dies, well, that’s unfortunate. But the survivor will have a good time—mother's honest promise."

Karl was briefly startled by her words, instinctively associating her with the Abraham sanguine. But he quickly regained control of his thoughts, maintaining a calmness in his mind even as his emotions stayed dulled.

Suddenly, the vixen waved her hand, and black flames erupted silently around her. Karl stepped back in reflex, his eyes locked on the dark fire that enveloped her. The flames, though black, were edged with white, consuming her entirely before dissipating into the air

Did she run away? Karl realized, quickly shifting his gaze to the remaining man. Would he flee as well? Contrary to Karl's expectation, the man hesitated, his expression conflicted, as if uncertain of his next move. After a brief moment, the man exhaled and turned toward the door, taking a few slow steps forward. He bent slightly, inserting his fingers into the keyhole.

Karl couldn’t see what the man was doing due to his angle, but soon he heard the sound of a click followed by the familiar creak of the door opening. Mist rushed into the room, pouring in like water, and the moonlight spilled across the floor, casting a pale, red-tinted glow through the fog. A figure stood just beyond the doorway, partially concealed by the swirling mist. Only the outline of the person was visible. Who is that?

The figure stepped forward, emerging from the mist into the room. The lantern’s dim light illuminated the stranger's face—a long-haired individual with sharp, androgynous features. They had black eyes and wore a buttoned coat with a black cape that fluttered lightly. A small smile played on their lips.

Abraham! Karl recognized him instantly. What is he doing here? Is he here to take me back to the farm? Or is he involved with those men? His mind raced with possibilities, but outwardly, his expression remained calm—passive and cold. His eyes locked with Abraham’s for a brief, tense moment before the man smiled wider.

"Son of the fallen!" Abraham greeted with a light laugh. He brushed past the other man, stepping fully into the room, stopping directly in front of Karl. "Did anything go wrong?"

You mean like being attacked by strange swordsmen? Karl thought but responded differently. "Like what?" he asked, his eyes never leaving Abraham’s. He had to tilt his head up to meet the man's gaze due to their height difference, a fact Karl found irritating, though there was little he could do about his small stature. At least he was taller than most of the beastmen back at the farm.

"Good. Anette handled herself well, considering she was up against two special classes," Abraham said with a satisfied smile.

So he’s with her, Karl noted silently, observing the man with renewed caution. Before this, Abraham was just a peculiar sanguine who referred to pigs as his children. Now, however, the situation had shifted. Abraham’s importance was greater than Karl had initially realized—a surprise Karl hadn’t anticipated.

Abraham’s smile faltered slightly as he turned his attention to the other man. "Shouldn’t a mind-worm be more cautious?" he teased. "You shouldn’t go fiddling with a mind tendril unless you’re sure you can handle it. For someone at the advanced level, you lack that awareness. Weren’t you taught as a child?" He chuckled and then looked back at Karl.

A mind-worm? Karl’s thoughts churned. That must be his evolutionary branch. Mind tendrils… What are those? He tried to piece together the meaning from the context but found himself at a loss. Is it mind control? It probably doesn’t work on anyone above the advanced class—like the special class, Karl deduced, realizing that Abraham was a special class being. This revelation was both a blessing and a curse. If Karl held some importance to Abraham and Anette, he might have gained a powerful ally. But if not, Abraham could become a dangerous enemy—one Karl had no means of opposing. It’s a coin toss, and I hate leaving things to chance.

"She doesn’t look well," Abraham commented, glancing at the injured woman in the corner. "Son of the fallen, do you have her hand?"

"No," Karl replied bluntly. What was I supposed to do, keep it as a souvenir? He thought with mild annoyance.

"That’s fine," Abraham said with a smile. "I suspect a certain lady will be coming by soon to check on her prized pupil."

Another person? Karl's brow furrowed slightly. He was growing tired of all the unexpected developments. It wasn’t that he felt any strong emotion toward them—his detachment remained constant—but he simply hated surprises. But who is this lady?

Abraham turned to the mind-worm sanguine. "I think we should leave, or else that lady might ask me to join her faction."

The sanguine tensed, opening his mouth as if to respond, but then closed it, his gaze shifting to Karl with an unreadable expression. It was a look that seemed hesitant, torn between wanting to stay and fearing what might await him outside with a special class like Abraham. After a few moments of awkward silence, the sanguine finally averted his eyes and hesitantly left the room. He gave in, though reluctantly. And a faction? Is it an evil faction, or something else? Karl wondered as he met Abraham's gaze.

"Son of the fallen, we’ll be going now. And yes, I know you have questions, but hold them for a bit. We’ll answer what we can."

But not everything, Karl noted silently, nodding without a word. He watched Abraham exit the room, closing the door behind him. The mist had already seeped in, curling like a living entity, giving the room an eerie atmosphere. Even with the door shut, the fog lingered.

He turned to the pale woman in the corner. So, I wait? Waiting wasn’t a problem for Karl—he preferred solitude anyway. He moved to the bed, sitting down as his mind began to wander. What could happen next? Who was this new woman, and what influence did she have? More importantly, what was her class?

The once-standing shed now lay in ruins. The fire that had consumed it had long since died out, leaving only smoldering ashes and piles of debris. The flames had scorched away the surrounding mist, and even the ground remained dry, cracked by the intense heat.

A man accompanied by several silver-armored guards approached the scene. They passed a few cannons and countless bodies, some of which belonged to the Sovereign’s unseen guards. Invigilator Kaisen surveyed the devastation. "Numerous dead," he muttered to himself. "Signs of a faction discovered by the guards."

Dressed in a white kefna, Kaisen’s appearance was sharp and imposing. His attire included a long coat with sleeves rolled up, revealing hands made entirely of silvery metal, gleaming under the night sky. His legs, encased in silver boots reaching his knees, gave him the appearance of a man with iron limbs. A monocle fitted over his right eye accentuated his fair skin and jet-black hair, which was just beginning to gray. His sharp, grayish-black eyes scanned the wreckage like a hunting hound.

Charred corpses lay strewn across the scorched ground. Some were crushed beneath the collapsed wooden roof, while others had been impaled by debris. Kaisen stepped over one body, only slightly burnt but with its face crushed beyond recognition by a stray stone.

They all seem to be dead, Kaisen thought, narrowing his gaze. But there may still be traces of the profane.

Suddenly, pure white light burst from his hands, bright as a miniature sun rising over the fields, casting a radiant glow over the dark night. He raised his clenched hand, and the light surged, expanding outward as if he held the very sun in his grasp. He exhaled a misty breath, calmly stating, "Hold it, then radiate." As he opened his palm, the light shot forth in waves, forming a dome that enveloped the entire area in a swirling mass of white light.

Within the dome, Kaisen's sharp eyes searched for any lingering signs of life. The remaining flames flickered and died, and even the eternal lamps lost their light.

From beneath a pile of rubble, something bluish shimmered—a translucent shape curled beneath the debris. Kaisen furrowed his brow in confusion. A living being? Here?

He waved his hand, and the rubble brightened with radiant light before fading away, revealing a trembling girl beneath the wreckage. Her legs and arms were scarred and partially charred, but she was alive—barely. Her black hair had mostly burned away, leaving her scalp uneven and bloodied in patches. She lay still as if fearing any movement would bring her closer to death.

Kaisen leaned in and pulled out a small bottle from within his coat—a spherical container with a long neck. He uncorked it and gently poured the red liquid over her wounds. "This will ease the pain," he murmured softly.

As the cold liquid touched her skin, the girl turned toward him, her one remaining eye focusing on her savior. The other had been burned out, leaving a gruesome, gaping socket. Despite her condition, she managed a smile—a fragile, fleeting smile that slowly faded.