The Bloodfiend Lizard's severed head hit the ground with a dull thud, rolling lifelessly across the blood-soaked soil. Kaisel stood frozen, chest heaving, his body screaming in agony. He hadn't even seen the strike—only the blur of motion and the sickening silence that followed.
Arthur de Ravengard stood a few paces ahead, his blade hanging idly at his side, its edge unmarred by the beast's blood. His crimson eyes—cold, sharp, and unreadable—shifted to Kaisel.
"You were really foolish to come in here on a Blood Moon night, Kaisel."
The words snapped Kaisel from his haze. He staggered forward, his legs trembling under the weight of exhaustion and pain.
"I—I… Please forgive me, Grandfather," he managed, his voice strained and hoarse.
Arthur said nothing. His gaze lingered on Kaisel for a long, unsettling moment, emotionless and heavy, before he turned sharply and began walking toward the duchy.
Kaisel followed, his steps uneven, every muscle screaming in protest. But the pain in his body was nothing compared to the storm brewing in his mind.
Did he see it? The thought gnawed at him like a starving beast. Did Grandfather see… when I used Wrath and Gluttony? No. No, he couldn't have. He would've said something by now. He would've—
Like hearing Kaisel's thoughts, Arthur asked,
"Are you going to tell me what I saw?"
The words cut through the silence like a blade.
Kaisel's heart plummeted. His expression froze in shock as he glanced at Arthur's back. The old man hadn't even stopped walking.
He saw it… but how much?
"I saw everything," Arthur continued, his voice calm but sharp enough to flay flesh from bone. "From the moment you were slammed into that tree… to the sudden surge of strength you gained. And when you killed it… what I saw after that—" He paused, as though searching for the right words. "—I don't know how to explain it."
Kaisel swallowed hard, but his throat was dry.
"Tell me, Kaisel. I know what I saw wasn't black magic. And it wasn't alchemy. No potion can grant that kind of strength."
Arthur stopped then, finally turning to face him. His expression didn't waver, but his eyes glinted like tempered steel.
"Don't think you can lie to me," he said, his voice heavy with authority.
Kaisel's hands trembled. A rush of emotions swirled violently within him—anger, hatred, fear. In the back of his mind, the voices of Wrath and Gluttony whispered, coaxing, tempting.
Don't. Don't let them take control. Breathe. Calm yourself.
He forced a deep breath, locking away the voices, and met Arthur's gaze.
.....
"Hmm... the Seven Sins..."Arthur's face looked a little serious.
Kaisel thought that Arthur knew something about them and felt a little hope.
"I don't know them..."
"Eh?" Kaisel was dumbfounded. He had hoped that his grandfather, who had lived long on this continent and experienced many situations, knew something about them. But his expectations were gone just like that.
"This is the first time I heard about them. But their names indicate negative emotions. You used the ancient soul-binding contract from a book in the secret chamber to make a contract with them."
"Yes."
"So they are going to be with you for life, huh..."
The ancient contract that Kaisel used was a soul-bound contract that would remain active until one of them died. That was the problem with it—it didn't have a time limit like normal magical contracts used to form bonds with spirits. But the Seven Sins claimed that they were not spirits, and Kaisel didn't know any other type of contract. And he didn't tell Arthur everything. He kept and altered some details, like what they wanted in return. How would someone react if they knew that something this crazy and dangerous was living inside their grandson? They would do everything to remove them.
"Are they the reason for your… killing intent?" Arthur asked.
"Yes… They kind of influence my mind and emotions sometimes," Kaisel admitted.
Arthur nodded, his expression grave, the weight of his gaze pressing down on Kaisel. "What are you trying to achieve from this? By growing stronger… revenge?"
Kaisel remained silent, his mind caught in a storm of memories and unspoken truths.
"I won't stop you," Arthur continued, his voice calm but resolute, carrying the quiet authority of a lifetime of command.
Kaisel was surprised by Arthur's words. But almost immediately, he thought of his family. The Ravengards were the first family to become Dukes when the Empire was founded, and their name was built on fear and power. They were ruthless, punishing anyone who crossed them or caused them trouble, often a thousandfold.
Most people obeyed out of fear. They used a unique magic of darkness and looked different from others, with pale skin and red eyes, sharp and piercing, almost like vampires. People often called them the demons of the Empire who worshipped the Goddess of Death. With all that in mind, Kaisel realized there was nothing about Arthur's words that should have surprised him.
Arthur's voice cut through Kaisel's thoughts once more. "You choose your own path. But know this: once you take the path of revenge, it will consume you if you falter. There will be no turning back, and regret will be a luxury you cannot afford. So I ask you one last time, Kaisel… Are you certain?"
Kaisel closed his eyes. Memories rose unbidden—blood, fallen knights, the terror etched into his mother's face, her lifeless body lying in the coffin. The weight of his grief and rage pressed on him, but beneath it, determination flared.
He drew in a slow, deliberate breath, and when he opened his eyes, they burned with crimson fire. "Yes."
.....
In the quiet of the morning, Kaisel moved through the underground hall, the air heavy with the scent of aged parchment. His hands traced the lines of the ancient tomes, studying spells that hummed with power and the lethal maneuvers of the Ravengard family—melee techniques honed over generations, precise and unforgiving.
Arthur had commanded him to stay in the duchy—to grow stronger here rather than throw himself recklessly into Ebonvale, where death lurked in every shadow. He was to master the family's combat techniques and raise the rank of his magic before venturing into a world that would not forgive weakness.
Kaisel sifted through countless tomes on magical structures, arcane theory, and forgotten spells, each page a fragment of knowledge long preserved. Now, his eyes were fixed on a handwritten volume, its leather cover worn with age. It had belonged to an ancestor of the Ravengard family—Rowena De Ravengard, a duchess renowned in her time for both wisdom and ferocity.
The book chronicled countless combat techniques she had discovered and refined herself, methods honed through relentless discipline. Kaisel's fingers paused on a particular page, its edges darker than the rest, as if it had been touched more than any other.
"The Strings of Death," the title read. Curiosity pricked at him, and he began to read.
"It is a combat style that uses thin metallic strings for assassination," the page began, its words precise and deliberate. "One of my ancestors wielded it with deadly skill. I learned it, and it proved excellent for restraining targets, setting traps, or cutting someone down silently. The original technique employed long strings of mythril, but carrying them proved cumbersome.
So I experimented. I tried shaping strings from Darkness itself, using magic to form them—but they lacked the necessary strength. Finally, I crafted thick ropes of mana with arcane magic, compressing them into nearly invisible threads. The result was swift and efficient; the greater the mana invested, the deadlier the strings.
Yet mastery demanded insane precision and experience—any mistake, and the strings could recoil or slice the user instead. The technique is subtle, releasing very little mana into the surroundings, making it nearly impossible to detect unless one's power surpasses a high rank. Darkness alone could not improve it, so I settled on combining it with Arcane magic—the true embodiment of the Strings of Death."
"I suppose the original founder couldn't use mana," Kaisel thought, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Well… this seems interesting. I should give it a try."
Having faced a demonic beast not long ago, he was painfully aware of his own lack of combat techniques. That was why he pored over these tomes, seeking styles and methods to sharpen his skill.
Closing the book, he reached for another. His current focus was clear: movement. To move with unrivaled speed, he needed to master the greatest movement ability known—teleportation—and that required raising the rank of his spatial magic.
His fingers brushed over the cover of a worn tome: Spatial Theory and How It Works by Anton Agrunour.
To be continued.