Chương 76: Chapter 048 Keep The Mask On Or Die (Part 2)

Jack felt as exposed as the pale wood, the carved runes, and the bloodstains. He wanted to run, but couldn't. His insides felt like a twisted knot of anxiety and restrained hatred as every few seconds [Assassin's Intuition] triggered. Greaves took it at once and handed it to Baroness Quill. The Baroness turned her back from Jack, but he could see she'd removed one of her gloves and was caressing the intricate runes. One that had a heavy bloodstain… the stain vanished.

He remembered noticing one of the bloodstains had disappeared after his chance meeting with the Baron after being chased through Lundun by the adventurers. Fuck. They can absorb the blood. Jack's thoughts jolted like a carriage wheel striking a rut. The ritual. The orc. The stain that vanished before. This was no admiration of craft; this was extraction. Baroness Quill turned back, smiling. She nodded to Greaves.

"A beautiful example of a white oak bow," she said with a grin.

"Let's remove those unsightly bloodstains." She gestured to an old man.

"Use your… [Cleansing] skill." The man hurried over and took the bow without a word. He held it out of sight between the other four nobles. They stood around the bloodstained weapon like a pack of hungry scavengers over a fresh carcass. One by one, they removed gloves and laid bare fingers on the wood. Despite the theatre, Jack could see what they were doing. [Assassin's Intuition] stopped triggering while the blood mages concentrated on the white oak bow.

He tried to breathe, but he was on the verge of a panic attack. Stay calm. Their behaviour was odd, and he wanted to know whose blood had stained his bow. It was something he hadn't thought of or cared about. It was just bloodstains that had marked its appearance enough for him to haggle the price down. But the way the nobles were acting concerned him. Moments later, the theatrical performance was wrapped up, and the gloves returned. The old man handed the bow to Baroness Quill, who passed it back to Jack.

"Much better," the Baroness commented, passing the now bloodstain-free bow to Jack.

"Th-thank you, my lady," he forced a bow as the [Assassin's Intuition] started pinging again. Fuck. Why are they interested in the blood? What does it mean? Baroness Quill smiled.

"You'll have to tell me where you found such a bow?" Jack blinked.

"The market, my lady. I bought it from a young vendor… less than a week ago." Her frown was slight, but noticeable.

"You'll provide his details to one of my men later," she ordered. Having no choice, Jack replied, "Yes, my lady." They lost interest in the bow after that. Why are they interested in the blood? Whose blood is it? Jack prayed they'd now lose interest in him… but they didn't. [Assassin's Intuition] continued to trigger, but at a lower rate. Greaves patted his shoulder again. Jack's skin crawled, and [Assassin's Intuition] flared.

"Stick close to me, my boy," the Baron said.

"We'll bag ourselves a stag today." He headed towards the horses. His beastkin guards were never far behind.

"Yes, my lord," Jack replied. He followed the monster who killed his family with his eyes trained forward. Why is he still interested in me? What do they want? Whatever it was, it wasn't to hunt deer together. Jack felt a pull on his mind again, distant, but… probing for an opening. His instincts were alert; something didn't feel right, like he was being watched from a distance or what felt like a distance. [Assassin's Intuition] confirmed it. He felt like prey… perhaps he was.

The air thrummed with the sound of the hunt assembling. Jack looked up when he heard the rising excitement and raucous laughter filling the air, along with sharp commands shouted towards servants scuttling to obey. He sighed as he watched a handful of lymer hounds, whining and tugging at their taut leads. The overeager scent-tracking dogs yapped and paced in tight, anxious circles, tangling themselves in their strained leads, desperate to be loosed upon the trail and run down their prey.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. I really don't want to be here, he thought as [Assassin's Intuition] pinged again. I could be eating Zia's biscuits or training with Toma and the others … Even Ben's company is better than this. Again, he felt his mind being probed for weaknesses. He clenched his teeth and hands, but it didn't help.

Beside him, a servant retrieved a bottle of chilled red wine from one of the small automaton porters; its beetle-like shell was opened to reveal a chilled container filled with wine and cooled snacks. The servant filled a half-dozen glasses with expensive red wine and offered Greaves and the others a glass. The Baron downed it in a single swallow and discarded the lead crystal glass into a patch of stinging nettles. Without complaint, the servant waded in after it.

Nearby, a few dozen deerhounds barked and yipped, snarling against their restraints as handlers fought to control them. Horses snorted and stamped, hooves thudding into the loamy forest floor in impatient rhythm as the soft jangle of harnesses mixed with the rustle of leaves stirred by a rising breeze. The chatter and laughter of dozens of people drowned out the forest's true voice. The morning chorus was smothered beneath the rising clamour of boots on earth, jingling tack, and the idle boasts of pompous nobles.

The sounds of the hunt didn't echo through the trees; no, they smothered them, replacing the calm of dawn with a theatre of noise and pageantry. Somewhere deeper in the woods, a horn sounded, signalling the start of the hunt. Another horn sounded from another nearby group of hunters. Baron Greaves nodded to one of the servants, who pulled out a horn and returned the sound. A low, measured note that stirred something primal in the chest.

Above it all, the sun filtered through the thinning canopy, casting gold across a forest bracing for blood.

"Time to hunt." Baron Trefin raised his wine glass before emptying it.

"Sooner we bag a stag, sooner we can sample the Viscount's extensive wine cellar." The others chuckled. Jack stood with Greaves and the other five blood cultists near a clearing, adjusting the quiver on his shoulder as his mount was led over by a young stable hand. The white oak bow was slung along his back again… naked now, its pale wood and intricate runes exposed.

"Your horse, young master." The stable-hand passed the reins with a half-bow.

"Thank you." Jack patted the horse's neck. It's been a while since I rode. The animal snorted as he swung into the aether-saddle. The leather creaked beneath him as the rune-enchanted saddle adjusted to fit his form. He tested the padding and smiled. The aether-saddle adjusted to absorb shocks. Is this how the wealthy live? In his past life, he rode horses, sometimes bareback, and he'd suffered for it. At least I won't be saddle sore in the morning. Perhaps I can still go for a walk with Dad tomorrow.

The thought came with a smile, which was ruined as [Assassin's Intuition] pinged again. The others mounted with fluidity and practised ease. Greaves was already astride his dark gelding, red embroidery gleaming like arterial filigree across his waistcoat. Baroness Quill rode a sleek grey mare with braided silk ribbons in its mane. Baron Argil's black steed tossed its head as if bored by the whole affair. Metal stirrups clinked as the nobles adjusted themselves upon their horses.

Leather saddles squeaked as they adjusted for each rider, and impatient horses brayed and stamped, hooves beating a restless rhythm upon the earth. All six nobles wore their titles like regal armour, but beneath their polish, Jack sensed something else, an intent that ran deeper than bloodlines or etiquette. Something older, darker, and dangerous. They smiled, thin, elegant things… but their eyes never left him.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood upright, as if some unseen predator circled just beyond the tree line, sniffing for weakness. The frequency of [Assassin's Intuition] triggering had increased again. Jack glanced around for threats. The nobles were watching him… and he noticed. And they knew he had. Cold sweat dampened his back. What do they want? Subtle glances passed between them when he spoke, when he adjusted his gloves, when he breathed.

I should've informed the Inquisition that they were blood mages sooner. In the chaos of his new life, he'd put the matter off until the last moment. A foolish mistake, he was coming to regret. Had he sent the evidence to the Inquisition describing the cultists and the orc warrior's sacrifice a week earlier, this hunt might have never taken place. Jack felt alone while surrounded by enemies. He glanced at the canopy above. It felt too close, like the roof of his cage. Get it together. In a few years, I'll be ready.

The bastard will feel my… His thoughts were interrupted as Greaves rode closer.

"Fine form, my boy. You carry yourself well. There's something about you," the Baron went on, half to himself.

"Something… touched. As if the Fates spun a new thread just for you." Jack blinked as [Assassin's Intuition] flared multiple times in quick succession.

"T-touched, my lord?" He took a controlled breath to calm his growing anxiety. The Fates… they can't know.

"Guided." Greaves' eyes became almost glassy.

"Yes. That's the word. I can see it much clearer now."

"Guided?" Jack muttered to himself, but Greaves heard. He felt the pressure again, like fingers brushing his mind, searching for an opening, looking for a weakness. The Baron smiled, the kind of smile that knew far more than it said.

"Oh, nothing. Only that the Fates don't often weave a thread twice. Yet here you are." He chuckled as though it were nothing. Jack forced a polite smile, but the words rang in his head as they began to ride. Twice. What does he know?