Chương 83: Chapter 052 The Viscount’s Banquet Unexpected Guests (Part 2)

"You'll train in private." Argil took a sip of wine and gestured to the others at the table.

"You'll begin levelling properly with the other young ones." [Assassin's Intuition] pinged from several of the young nobles. Idrisa smiled.

"We'll be watching. We don't see many commoners find the path to true power." The young, blond-haired noble scoffed but said nothing. Jack took a sip of water to mask the bile rising in his throat.

"You'll need to catch up." Quill leaned back in his chair.

"The others are ahead."

"There are others, my lady?" Jack's voice didn't tremble; he was proud of that. Vampese chuckled.

"Eleven young ones. You've already met six of them…" She gestured with her gaze to the six young nobles at their table.

"You'll meet the others soon." Eleven. Just tonight. Gods. There's a whole generation of them… of us.

"Tonight, my lady?" He gulped; everything was happening so fast.

"You couldn't have timed your awakening better, my boy." Greaves grinned.

"You'll be the twelfth, and the youngest, of the new group. You'll bond and level together. You'll be guaranteed your first pseudo skill tonight." Jack nodded, recalling the blood magic ritual involving twelve nobles and his new blood mage skill, [Blood Bond]. Are there only twenty-three of them? He glanced around the room and noticed all the nobles and some of the commoners wore blood mage pins in various designs. There are dozens. I'll be the twelfth young one. Realisation hit. Shit.

They want me to bond with them. He looked at the teenage nobles surrounding him who kept triggering [Assassin's Intuition]. I'm fucked. The girl across from him narrowed her eyes.

"You better not mess this up… commoner. We've waited months for this." Jack blinked. Mess what up?

"Quiet!" Baroness Vampese snapped in a low, threatening tone.

"You will show decorum fitting for a noble lady, Olivia." Olivia looked down.

"Sorry, Aunt Vampese." Jack wondered if all the young nobles were related to the older blood mages. He glanced at Greaves' nephew, who was still glaring at him. The boy was practically tapping him every few seconds via [Assassin's Intuition].

"Your first ritual is tonight." Trefin reached for a slice of venison.

"Warrior. A big bastard with no family to miss him. Condemned for attacking a noble. He should yield some good skills for the youngsters."

"The brute attacked Viscount Rowlings," Vampese added with a chuckle.

"Can you imagine? The audacity!" Fuck. They're going to kill someone tonight. Jack nodded.

"First ritual, my lord?" Quill reached into her bag and slid parchment across the table.

"Instructions. Chants in ancient elven. Memorise it after dinner." The tall, blond, hawk-faced teen scoffed again. Greaves turned to him.

"Do you have something you'd like to add, Fenton?" Fenton frowned. He hesitated, then muttered, "No, Uncle." He shot Jack a glare that held far more venom than words, and of course [Assassin's Intuition] triggered. Jack held the stare a moment longer than necessary, then looked down at the documents. His hand itched to draw the dagger at his side. Killing a young blood mage would be a service to the K ingdom.

"We'll have no infighting," Greaves said.

"It's difficult enough without us at each other's throats." He shook his head with visible disappointment. He turned to Jack.

"We'll find you a noble girl to marry in a couple of years to give you some status." Jack offered a shocked look. They're planning my life.

"Don't look so shocked, boy," Baroness Quill said.

"You'll have mistresses." Jack's mouth fell open.

"Mistresses?" The others chuckled.

"Jack, you'll have a few hours," Idrisa said, taking the conversation back to the ritual.

"Memorise the words. Do not speak them until the circle is formed. And try not to vomit. The others won't respect weakness." Fenton and the other young nobles snickered.

"Thank you, my lady," Jack replied, bowing his head. He held the parchment beneath the table. His hands trembled; he couldn't stop them. I'm a blood mage, and I'll be married to a noble and have mistresses. Everything was moving so fast. He thought of Jasmin. I have to stay away from her. He looked at Alric, Jasmin's father. To keep her safe. Jack looked down at the front page. The runes blurred; he blinked hard, and they came back into focus. I don't want this. He recalled the ritual in the barn.

The white runes, the chant, the light turning red, and the way the enslaved orc screamed as his life withered away to dust. He could still hear the scream, rising like steam, boiling in his skull. His chest clenched, and he couldn't breathe. You're going to help kill someone tonight. An innocent person. He remembered what Trefin had said: 'Condemned for attacking a noble.' He knew nobles executed those who attacked them. I'll be killing someone who was already destined to die, he tried to justify his reasoning.

I have no choice. If I don't… they'll know I'm not one of them. Fuck. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. Jack swallowed hard and forced a smile before folding the parchment with shaking fingers; he slid it into his jacket with his scribe supplies. Calm down, or you die. He drank another mouthful of water, trying to steady his nerves. He glanced at the table filled with wine and licked his dry lips. No. I need to be clear-headed.

"A few hours after the meal," said Argil, "we'll lead you to the chamber." Greaves chuckled.

"You'll perform it tonight. We'll be watching." Watching for what? Mistakes? Weakness? A single misstep and I'll be gutted before I finish the second verse. Trefin smiled.

"You'll be among friends tonight." Friends. Jack suppressed the urge to scoff as [Assassin's Intuition] continued to trigger from Fenton's direction. Vampese raised her glass.

"To Jack's first kill."

"To his future," said Idrisa.

"To opportunity," murmured Quill. The nobles, old and young, raised their glasses and drank. A dozen crystal glasses of wine sang Jack's future as he raised his glass of water last.

"Thank you," he said aloud, the words bitter on his tongue. His hands didn't stop trembling. To blood and murder. To pretending this is what I want and t o staying alive long enough to kill them all. He drank, wishing it were ale as he tried to ignore the animosity he was feeling from the young nobles. The water quenched his thirst, but not his anxiety. Play along and k eep breathing. Smile if you have to. He forced a smile for the nobles. By the Gods, why is this happening to me?

As the chandeliers glittered above and the stag's head loomed from the wall, Jack braced himself for the night to come. A forbidden blood ritual where he'd kill a stranger. After the meal, Jack found a quiet corner to read the ritual instructions. After one read, his [Perfect Recall] skill locked every page into memory. He still read it three times. So that's how it works. What an interesting school of magic. He was genuinely impressed by the ritual. Hmm…

So it was a dozen [Chronos Sphere] spell scrolls they used in the ritual. He thought back to the number of times the owner of the spell scroll shop said he had a rush order for a dozen [Chronos Sphere] spell scrolls. Damn. That's probably blood mages performing this ritual. The forbidden ritual amplified a blood mage's innate ability to absorb pseudo skills.

Where Jack had gained one skill per kill thanks to his dagger, this rune formation allowed a dozen blood mages to each gain one pseudo skill from a single victim. They also gained an equal share of the slain target's affinities. Hmm, so when the orc warrior died. He frowned as he remembered the warrior's body shrivelling away. Greaves and the other eleven nobles each gained one pseudo skill.

The documents explained that to receive a pseudo skill and affinity boost, a blood mage had to be in contact with the target at the moment of death. A hand or a blade; it didn't matter which. After that, there was an element of luck. Most of the time the blood mage wouldn't gain a skill, but around ten per cent of the time they'd steal a partial skill. So t hat's why I didn't get a mage skill. I wasn't touching him. He thought about how he killed the mage, Mo. He'd killed him with two arrows.

All his other kills ended with a final dagger strike. He grabbed the hilt of his dagger. This dagger guarantees me a pseudo skill every time. Or is it the scar from the rose? The rune circle changed the need to touch the target. Any blood mage within twenty metres received some benefit, though those closer received a larger share of the affinities boost. I must have gained affinities from the orc warrior and my first pseudo skill, even though I wasn't physically part of the ritual.

Jack scratched his face where it used to be badly scarred. It's no wonder they bought the orc warrior slave; he was a treasure trove of skills. Realisation hit. So that's why no guards were near the barn. They'd have interfered with the ritual. The documents he'd memorised explained that the higher the level of the target, the more available skills. It must be so tempting for them to murder high-level people. He shook his head and recited the elven chant silently a few times. It stuck; he wouldn't forget it now.

As he sat, wondering what to do, [Assassin's Intuition] triggered as three of the young nobles approached.

"Commoner." Fenton's eyes narrowed as he looked down his nose at Jack.

"You'll do as we command when the ritual starts." Jack pictured how far Fenton's arrows had missed during the hunt. He probably couldn't hit a barn, let alone a barn door. He gave a bright smile.

"Sure, Fenton. I appreciate your sage advice." The three nobles frowned and [Assassin's Intuition] flared. Were they expecting a fight? He realised he was dealing with self-entitled children.

"Don't mess up," Olivia added.

"Or else."

"Okay. I won't." Jack kept smiling.

"Thanks for the advice, Olivia. I'll be relying on you like an older sister." The third boy, the one with the nervous leg, opened his mouth, then shut it again.

"Anything else?" Jack asked.

"I'm trying to memorise the chant." He looked at Olivia.

"So I don't mess up… Big sis." Jack had to stifle a chuckle as the three teenagers exchanged glances and left. Fucking noble brats. They wouldn't last a week outside their estates. Over the next hour, Jack was forced to mingle with the nobles and invited commoners. He maintained a polite, fake smile as he kept his answers to questions as vague as possible. He found himself drawn into a quieter conversation near a fireplace with two scribes, a librarian, and an archivist. All from the Royal Library. All drunk.

They were deep in a heated argument.

"I'm telling you," slurred scribe Hadlin, raising his wine glass, "ancient dwarven is the most elegant written language in history. It's all angles and symmetry! Pure logic!"

"Elegant?" scoffed librarian Wyth.

"It's a glorified masonry chart. Everything's square! Square letters. Square meanings. It's the language equivalent of a brick." Archivist Donn chuckled into his wine.

"At least dwarven has consistent conjugation. Try reading ancient drow." He took a gulp of wine.

"Where was I? The drow. One misplaced accent and suddenly your declaration of peace becomes a ritual challenge to the death." Jack laughed. Scribe Elaith, half a head taller than the others and very drunk, flapped his hand to get everyone to listen.

"Sh, sh, shhh…" There was a long pause.

"What was I going to say?"

"You were going to agree with me," Hadlin slurred and then burped. Making everyone laugh but Elaith, who looked at him with confused disdain.

"I was not!" He straightened his back and grinned.

"Those are fighting words, Hadlin. Pens at dawn, I tell you, and trust me, I have a very big pen." They all sniggered like teenagers, and Donn spat his expensive wine back into his glass. Elaith glared at them with hawkish eyes.

"I'll have you all know that ancient elven is the most sophisticated language ever penned. Ever. It's musical, it's flexible, and." He sloshed wine from his glass as he gestured.

"And most importantly, it's impossible to translate without poetry."

"That's not a virtue," muttered Donn.

"That's a nightmare."

"Exactly." Elaith swayed.

"If a language doesn't make your soul ache and your teeth hurt, then it's not worth the ink." Jack grinned.

"Are those the criteria now? Toothache and heartbreak?"

"Both are symptoms of greatness!" Elaith declared, raising his glass in triumph. Wyth rolled her eyes.

"We've lost him." Elaith raised his glass even higher.

"To ancient elven. The only language where you can insult a man's mother, praise her cooking, and seduce her in the same sentence." They all groaned. Jack laughed. For a moment, he wasn't a blood mage in training. He was just a Novice Scribe meeting fellow academics at an awkward work party. A boy in a new suit that didn't feel right, pretending he belonged. And then he remembered the elven chant in his pocket. The kill to come. The warmth drained from his smile.