The Zither Moon Mountain Plains were cloaked in gloom, the cold wind howling, carrying fine raindrops that splattered on the rocky ground, leaving a damp, icy chill that seeped into the bones.
Inside a cave carved into the cliffside, a fire burned brightly, its flames casting flickering shadows across the rough stone walls, the air thick with the smoky scent of burning wood.
The cave was a sanctuary from the storm, its narrow mouth shielding the interior from the rain's relentless patter, but the atmosphere was heavy, charged with the weight of Leylin's ambitions and the dark ritual unfolding within.
Leylin knelt beside a magical rune circle etched into the cave floor, its intricate inscriptions glowing faintly under the firelight, his grey robe stained with blood and dust.
The Book of Giant Serpent lay open nearby, its thick pages a treasure trove of secrets, while the Void White-Eyed Snake coiled silently in his sleeve, its silver runes glinting like liquid moonlight.
Bosain's paralyzed body lay sprawled on a bed of dust, his silver robes torn, his face pale but regaining color, his fingers twitching as consciousness stirred.
Leylin's bright brown eyes glinted with cold pragmatism, his heart steady with the clarity of his plan, his mind racing with calculations sparing Bosain was a necessity, not mercy, a shield against the Lilytell family's wrath.
Acolytes from great families like the Lilytells often carried detection spells, woven into their very essence. If Bosain died, those spells would latch onto the nearest intelligent creature Leylin and morph into a tracking curse, impossible to shake.
The Lilytells, one of Abyssal Bone Forest Academy's three great families, had the resources and will to hunt him down, their Magi wielding strange, relentless methods. Killing Bosain would pin every clue on Leylin, a risk he couldn't afford for now.
Instead, he'd fed Bosain potions to tangle his memories, ensuring the boy recalled nothing of the inheritance, only vague fragments of their ordeal.
Leylin current plan is to use a illusion spell to send Bosain wandering in the wrong direction, buying two months, maybe three, before the spell faded and he returned to the academy.
By then, Leylin would be hidden, waiting for Dorotte's return to mediate, leveraging his mentor's influence to join a faction and deflect the Lilytells' scrutiny.
Leylin's lips curled into a faint smirk as he drew a runed dagger from his belt, its blade glinting in the firelight, his heart thrumming with a quiet thrill at the ritual's promise. He sliced his hands, blood welling from the cut, dripping into the rune circle with a soft patter, his voice a low, satisfied hum, heavy with purpose.
"Just a little more," he said, his words deliberate, his heart steady despite the sting, his mind locked on the spell's precision. The blood poured in a steady stream, covering the inscriptions, the circle glowing faintly as the liquid bubbled, as if kissed by invisible flames, the air growing warmer, heavier, with a faint, sweet scent that mingled with the smoke.
Leylin began to chant, his voice an ancient, mysterious incantation, a tongue-twister that wove a charming allure through the cave, its rhythm rising and falling like a tide, each syllable pulsing with power:
"By shadows deep, where secrets dwell,
I weave the chains of mind's own spell.
In dreamland's illusion, hearts I bend,
Control the will, till truths descend."
The words rhymed with a hypnotic cadence, their allure shifting the cave's atmosphere, the air shimmering with arcane energy, the bonfire's flames flickering wildly, casting eerie shadows that danced like specters.
Leylin's heart pounded with the spell's intensity, his rune-seared skin blazing red, his mind sharp with the thrill of bending reality, with each verse.
Dense pink gaseous tendrils seeped from his body, swirling around the circle, their hue deepening as the blood bubbled, transforming into a strange, rosy tint that glowed with an otherworldly sheen, the cave humming with the spell's power.
Leylin seized Bosain's limp form, dragging him into the circle's heart, his voice a sharp, commanding snap, thick with urgency.
"Time to wake up." he said, his heart racing with the ritual's climax, his mind locked on the illusion's success. He dipped the dagger into the pinkish blood, its blade glistening, and drew a jagged rune on Bosain's forehead, the symbol pulsing with a faint, hypnotic light, the air thick with the scent of blood and magic.
Bosain's face twisted, a flicker of confusion crossing his features, then his eyes snapped open, dull and glassy, his body rising stiffly. He knelt before Leylin, his voice a hollow monotone, devoid of his usual arrogance, heavy with the spell's weight.
"Master," he intoned, his heart subdued, his will broken by the illusion, his golden hair falling limply across his face.
"Go!" Leylin's voice was a cold, imperious order, his heart steady with triumph, his mind already mapping the months ahead. "Leave, and walk north away from the academy. Don't stop, don't think, just go."
Bosain rose, his movements robotic, and shuffled out of the cave, disappearing into the rain-soaked gloom, his silver robes a faint glimmer against the storm's darkness, the illusion guiding him toward a distant, empty path.
"Such a lukcy boy, if i didn't have any other way to get my hands on advanced meditation technique except for the academy, I would have enjoyed torturing you." Leylin leaned back, his voice a soft, smug chuckle, tinged with indifference as he wiped the dagger clean.
"That should be enough for two three months," he said, his words deliberate. "The Lilytells won't go too far for a knocked-out acolyte, especially when Bosain's memories are a mess. Dorotte will be back by two or three months, and I'll have a faction to shield me. Perfect."
He pulled a scroll from his pocket, its surface shimmering with runic seals, his voice a low, appreciative hum, "Not bad for a consolation prize," he said, his words laced with amusement.
The scroll held a Rank 1 spell, its creation a feat of exorbitant cost—crafted by an official Magus over a dozen casts, imbued by a Grand Alchemist skilled in spell formations, each one worth at least 100,000 magic crystals. Rare and extravagant, such scrolls were prized by acolytes, hoarded by great families like the Lilytells.
Leylin pocketed the scroll and sat cross-legged by the crackling fire, the Book of Giant Serpent open before him, its 667 pages of travel notes, 78 experiment notes, 12 Rank 1 spell models, and 3 Rank 2 spell models a treasure trove that dwarfed the scroll's value.
"Rank 2 spell models, ancient ones, no less," His voice was a soft, fervent mutter, alive with hunger as he pored over the pages, his heart pounding with the weight of Serholm's legacy, his mind racing with possibilities.
"These would fetch a fortune, but I can't sell them. No one can know I have this, not yet."
Hours passed, the rain's patter a distant drone, the bonfire's warmth a faint comfort against the cave's chill. Leylin's eyes burned with fatigue, but his heart heavy with the knowledge within, his mind grappling with a new revelation.
"Warlock," he said, his words slow and curious, his ambition a steady flame.
The travel notes described ancient acolytes who became Warlocks, a unique breed of Magi who devoured or copulated to gain bloodlines from powerful creatures, even otherworldly beings, tapping their power to surpass regular Magi.
Great Magus Serholm himself was a Rank 4 Warlock, his strength legendary, his innate talent in spellcasting unmatched, a titan who'd shaped the South Coast.
"Warlocks are special subtype of Magi, more stronger, faster, able to draw power from their bloodline but also cursed with emotional extremes." Leylin leaned against the cold cave wall, his voice a low, introspective murmur, his heart quickening with the allure of the Warlock path, his mind racing with its dangers.
The notes warned of a degrading phenomenon called thinning of bloodlines, descendants losing power over generations, and another issue was the emotional malady that plagued Warlocks prone to rage, despair, or obsession, a flaw that clashed with the Magus World's cold reasoning.
Yet Serholm had mastered it, crafting the Serenity Potion to calm the bloodline's chaos, preserving his will and rising to Rank 4, a legend among legends.
"What an interesting path, but unfortunately I can't talk on this path, at least not for now." Leylin's heart stirred, but he quickly calmed down accepting reality, "Without the meditation technique, I'm stuck, chained to the path of Abyssal Bone Forest academy."
His heart sank, his frustration a bitter edge, his ambition clashing with the reality of his limits.
The Book of Giant Serpent offered clues, vague hints pointing to the Central Continent, a haven for official Magi, its vast lands rich with resources, a world beyond the South Coast's reach.
"Central Continent." Leylin's voice was a soft, resolute vow, heavy with determination as he memorized the details, his heart thudding with the promise of the journey, his mind racing with its dangers. "I've never heard of it, but if that's where the future advancement lies, I'll find it. No matter how many domains I have to cross, no matter the cost."
The book revealed why Serholm chose the Black Horrall Snake as a guard—a subspecies of the Great Kemoyin Serpent, its bloodline a key to Warlock power.
"If I can refine its blood essence I would have the blood of a Rank 4 creature." Leylin's voice was a fervent whisper, alive with hunger as he withdrew a sack from his belt.
He laid out the Black Horrall Snake's essence a dozen blood-colored rocks, a frozen heart, bones, a horn, scales, infernal organs each pulsing with ancient power.
"Warlock path, Branded Swordmen Path, Magus Path, who knows what else is out there, but I would have it all! My darkness would devour everything, to help me create my own path."
"This is why you are here as well, isn't it? Old friend." Leylin's mind dived into his sea of consciousness and glanced at the Cursed Bloodline Codex, its grey pages pulsing with vein-like tendrils.
Inside the cave Leylin's hand tightly hold the blood crystal in his hand.The Black Horrall Snake's blood crystal was no larger than a walnut, its surface a deep, viscous red, veined with black threads that seemed to writhe under the firelight, as if alive.
It pulsed faintly, a relic of the ancient beast's power, a fragment of the Great Kemoyin Serpent's lineage.
The Cursed Bloodline Codex rested before him, its pages sealed with a dark, arcane energy that seemed to hum in response to the crystal's presence.
Leylin brought the blood crystal to his lips, inhaling its metallic scent.
He licked the crystal's surface, its smooth, cold facets yielding a bitter, iron-heavy flavor that burned his tongue, a spark of ancient power igniting in his mouth, his heart lurching as the blood's essence seeped into him, his mind reeling with visions of serpentine coils and shadow-wreathed fangs, the Kemoyin Serpent's legacy whispering in his soul.
The Cursed Bloodline Codex rumbled, a deep, resonant vibration that shook the space, its grey cover splitting open as it shone with a brilliant, blinding light, a cascade of crimson and gold that painted the walls in swirling patterns, the air crackling with arcane energy.
Its pages fluttered wildly, flipping as if caught in an unseen storm, each turn a thunderclap that echoed in Leylin's bones, his heart pounding with awe, his mind grappling with the codex's power.
The pages seemed to open to a new reality, their surfaces rippling like liquid, revealing glimpses of otherworldly vistas coiling serpents in starlit voids, ancient altars dripping with blood, runic constellations that pulsed with forbidden knowledge.
"Yes! Show me the path!" Leylin's voice was a sharp, exultant shout, raw with triumph as he walked closer to the codex, his heart hammering with the rush of discovery.
The codex's light pulsed, its pages settling on a single spread, its surface etched with runic script that glowed like molten iron, a diagram of a serpent coiled around a blood-red altar, its eyes twin stars that seemed to stare into Leylin's soul.
"Ouh this is interesting, was the mere traces of a Rank 4 bloodline enough to stir your interest and awaken you?" Leylin was voice was a low, reverent whisper, thick with awe as he traced the runes.
For the first since he has awakened the Cursed Bloodline Codex, something has appeared on its pages. An ancient text that Leylin has never read before, but he can understand naturally.
"If I knew that you could do something like this, I would have been more reckless in my pursuit of bloodlines."