CHAPTER SEVEN

A Lesson in Battle

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‘Oh,’ whispered a deep, intelligent voice only Bram could hear. ‘Interesting…’

Thankfully, the points Bram had added to his Constitution were now reflected in his health, bolstering him enough to be daring.

 

 

“This is…” Baer’s eyes widened at the sight of the blood hardening around Bram’s arm. “…blood magic?!”

When those same eyes snapped toward him, Bram saw a myriad of emotions reflected in their gaze. Disbelief, confusion, fear—such emotions wafted out of Baer, creating an imbalance in his mind that helped weaken the strength in Baer’s arms enough for Bram to push his broad-shouldered coachman back with his sword.

“What’s the matter, Baer?” Bram asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Where’s the confidence you possessed when you thought me weak?”

“You aren’t supposed to know sorcery!” Baer protested.

“All I hear…” Knowing he had under a minute left with ‘Emulation,’ Bram pressed his advantage. He stepped forward—the strength in his foot cracking the ground beneath him, causing pain to spike up his leg—and launched a righthanded haymaker at Baer’s chest that carried with it the power that sprung from his lower body. “…Is the whining of the unprepared!”

“Phoebus’ cock!”

Baer tried to slap Bram’s fist away with the butt of his axe, but the fist extending toward the coachman was encased in the hardened blood that now coated Bram’s entire arm, negating the weakness caused by its broken wrist.

‘Wham!’

A fist reinforced by ‘Iron Blood’ slammed into Baer’s solar plexus, forcing the breath from his lungs, and making him stumble backward.

“H-how?!” The coachman’s face grew pale while blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. “H-how are you wielding sor—”

‘Crack!’

Wielding the style of fist fighting he’d secretly learned two years ago from a revered mystic of the ‘Mountain Kingdom of Shamvala’ who’d visited his mother’s court to pay homage to the Sovereign, Bram followed up his blood-coated fist with an elbow rising underneath Baer’s chin, cracking against it like a hammer to a nail.

Baer staggered backward and was unable to raise a defense against the blood-coated hand, which, after rising upward from that last attack, was now chopping down at him from on high. Strangely, in the face of Bram’s assault, the coachman’s expression lost its confusion. Taking its place was an excitement that seemed out of place considering Bear was about to be struck again.

Bram didn’t notice this abrupt change in his coachman’s demeanor though. For within his mind, the seventh prince was too busy feeling thrilled. In his years’ long seclusion, Bram learned all manner of martial arts, believing that a honed body and skills to match it would one day prove useful against a sorcerer in a close-quarters fight. Today, he was proving that his efforts hadn’t been in vain.

“Be fuel for my growth!”

Bram swung his hand down for all it was worth—and that’s when he felt pain explode into his arm.

“Ugh!”

Blood spilled out of Bram’s mouth as pain racked his insides.

“Damn…”

In his haste, the seventh prince overdid it. As a result, his body strained against the incompatible power rampaging inside him like molten fire racing across his veins. He could press his advantage no longer, and so Bram stumbled back into the embrace of Rowan’s fog, allowing Baer time to recover from his combination of attacks.

‘You were too excited…’

Bram heard a sigh in the wind that reflected his frustration at failing during such a crucial moment.

 

 

Meanwhile, Baer, once again hidden in the fog, howled, “I’ve often heard about your ogrish strength, but this is beyond what a talentless fool can achieve… You’ve done a good job concealing your fangs, Your Highness!”

Bram wasn’t sure if it had been due to Rowan’s fog, but the coachman’s voice had changed. It was distorted, deeper, more manic somehow.

“You’ve tricked the proud Lotharian nobles into believing you a lamb.” Baer let loose a mad cackle, one Bram didn’t think could come from the mouth of the genial coachman who’d served him even before his time in Lotharin. “You’ve even dabbled in blood magic, you daft bastard!”

Although not illegal in the imperium, many nobles and commoners frowned at those who practiced blood magic for they believed it too dark a branch of sorcery for mortal hands to wield. This bias was especially strong in Lotharin where the influence of the sun god Phoebus and his Temple of Light was deeply rooted in the people’s minds.

“I see you for what you are—you’re no lamb!” Baer roared in that strange voice that Bram didn’t recognize. “You and I are alike, Your Highness…we’re predators hiding among sheep!”

The twin flames that marked Baer’s position winked out as if the coachman finally noticed how Bram was tracking him in the thick fog.

“I’ve hidden my fangs too…” Baer’s voice came from many places around Bram. “But I’ll unsheathe them now to tear at you!”

“Fuck you, Baer,” Bram growled defiantly.

He wasn’t sure what the coachman was getting at, but his senses told him that his opponent was far different from the two traitors he’d already slain. Indeed, Bram recalled that Baer was not originally his, but a servant sent to him by the Sovereign’s court during the days when responsibility and duty were still far from his grasp. Baer had never shown him an ounce of disloyalty before today though, so Bram had never suspected the coachman of having ulterior motives or a fractured mind.

‘You have much to learn about intrigue,’ whispered the voice in the fog.

 

 

Bram could feel his borrowed power surge inside of him like an unruly beast. He’d felt it from the onset, how alien Rowan’s energy had been compared to anything else he’d witnessed. Despite its inconvenience, he had no choice but to cling to this double-edged boon, for Bram knew that he couldn’t defeat Baer without it.

“Oh, fiery spark that refuses to be tamed…”

The coachman’s voice was echoing from around Bram’s left side.

The seventh prince backed away while keeping his bloodstained arm up like a shield. At the same time, Bram tried desperately to control his breathing to help counteract his internal pain.

“…Engulf my enemy in your wicked flame…”

This time, Baer’s voice was to Bram’s right.

‘Damn…’ He slid to the side just as realization dawned on him. ‘Somehow, Baer can see me in Rowan’s fog…’

Then he smelled it—the scent of a flame crackling to life against flesh. This odor drew Bram’s gaze over his shoulder, and that’s when he saw the telltale spark of magic glowing in the near distance.

“Ray of Fire!”

There was a sound akin to a hunting horn’s call as the air pressing against Bram’s back grew unreasonably hot, and then a brilliant orange ray shot out of the fog behind him. Like a javelin in flight, it hurtled toward Bram who twisted his body around in a hurry so he could raise his bloodstained arm against Baer’s sorcery.

‘Boom!’

Smoke and dust billowed out in all directions, clearing the dirt road of Rowan’s fog. When the magic of his sorcery dissipated and the swirling dust settled around him, a gleeful Baer raised his twin axes in triumph.

“I beat the imp! I killed him!” Baer cackled like he was a man possessed who’d forgotten his original intentions of kidnapping Bram. His eyes, which had become bloodshot, gave him a strangely ghoulish countenance. “I’m not like the idiots who’ve died. I’m one of the chosen! I’m—”

Twin arms coated in hardened blood enclosed Baer’s chest, wrapping the coachman in a bear hug empowered by prodigious strength.

Baer’s eyes widened. “Wh-what?!”

He struggled against his attacker, but Bram, with his bloodied face and ragged breath, refused to let his enemy go. He clung to Baer’s back as if his life depended on it.

“W-wait!”

Bram used his borrowed strength to flip Baer over, sending him slamming headfirst onto the dirt with a ‘Lotharian Suplex’ he’d learned from his wrestling instructor many, many moons ago.

 

 

Baer’s head, neck, and back cracked hard against the earth, leaving the coachman groggy and unprepared to fight off Bram who was quick to mount him on the ground.

“It’s never wise…to count one’s basilisks…before they hatch,” he taunted.

Bram’s lips drew so close to Baer’s neck that his breath tickled the coachman’s flesh.

‘Good, my prince,’ Rowan whispered. ‘Now, drink his blood and know the taste of victory.’

“S-stop,” Baer pleaded, his voice reverting to the one Bram recognized. “P-please…let me—”

“No…”

A telltale smile grew on Bram’s face, showing off the twin fangs that pierced into Baer’s neck a second later.

 

 

‘For the blood is the life,’ came Rowan’s encouraging whisper.

Bram had felt it earlier. This desire to taste his enemy’s blood, to drain them of their life force. He’d held himself back against Barret, believing such thoughts to be of evil roots. But now that he was tired and near death, the seventh prince no longer had the will to deny the strange hunger that came over him.

 

 

 

 

With his borrowed power gone, the hunger that overwhelmed Bram went with it.

The seventh prince’s eyes widened as the blood that had been so sweet to his tongue only a second ago morphed into this foul metallic taste that made him gag. His head reared back in disgust only so he could puke out the leftover blood onto Baer’s face.

The coachman didn’t complain though. Baer couldn’t…because he was dead.

“I…”

With his mouth free of the revolting taste, Bram could now see his handiwork in its entirety. Consumed by devilish hunger, the seventh prince had drained the coachman of every bit of his blood so that Baer’s corpse now looked like one of the husks that had littered the floor of Bram’s bedroom.

“I did this…?”

The seventh prince got up on shaky legs—and that’s when he felt his world tilt sideways.

 

 

Bram didn’t need the system to tell him what he felt in his bones. It was as if his muscles had been torn repeatedly from overexertion during a short period. Black spots were hovering over his vision. He was also out of breath.

 

 

Despite its warning, the system without a name also asked Bram if he wanted to save Rowan’s status in one of his three saved profiles.

“Yes…”

He imagined the positives of the power he’d copied from the trickster outweighed any negatives, and Bram believed he would need such oppressive strength again in the coming days.

“You can come out now, Rowan,” Bram whispered. “The battle—”

The seventh prince felt pain blossom in his gut before he saw the dagger that pierced his side.

“M-monster,” whispered the owner of the hands that shook while they held onto the dagger’s handle.

“You?” Bram’s brow creased.

He recognized the blonde youth who’d been hiding behind Baer and the others. Bram thought the boy had run away when the fight began, but he was wrong.

The blonde youth tried to reclaim his dagger, but Bram grabbed his wrist and kept him from pulling the blade out. He knew that the blade plugged the hole in his gut, and without it, blood would gush out of his wound, taking with it the adrenaline that kept him standing.

“M-monster!” The blonde youth cried.

Bram frowned.

He’d been named an ill-fated prince, a weakling, and a fool, but he’d never been called a monster before or been looked upon with such terror.

“You godsdamned fool,” Bram growled.

Although his physique towered over the blonde youth, Bram noticed they were about the same age. This comparison wouldn’t stave off his anger though. Not after the other boy tried to kill him.

Bram reached for his sword with his free hand, but it wasn’t there. He’d lost it in the fight with Baer. Unfortunately, with his status reverted, he’d also lost the ability to wield the iron in his blood. There was, however, one weapon close at hand. It would be a pain to wield though, the dagger embedded in his side.

“You should have…remained hidden.” Bram grinned bloodstained teeth at the youth. “You should have run…”

His terror of Bram kept the blonde youth paralyzed and unable to dodge the headbutt that bashed against his skull.

“Gaah!”

Stunned, the blonde youth’s hands slipped from the dagger.

He should have held on. He should have been more desperate to survive like Bram was when he pulled the dagger out of his side with a resolve to kill or be killed keeping him standing. With the last bit of his strength, Bram plunged the dagger into the blonde youth’s chest.

The boy cried out, and so did Bram. Together, they toppled over, both hitting the ground at the same time. Although only one of them let out a gasp moments later.

“Ugh…”

Bram rolled over so that his gaze was on the late afternoon sky already basking in the sunset’s golden glow.

“Damn you for”—tears pooled around his eyes—“forcing me to kill you.”

While his emotions overwhelmed him—with the weight of what he’d done pressing against his chest—Rowan appeared kneeling at the seventh prince’s side as if she’d been cast out by the surrounding mist that was already beginning to dissipate.

“Victory comes with a heavy price.” She pressed a hand against his side, causing the pain in his gut to lessen. “I hope you never forget this lesson.”

Rowan cradled Bram’s head on her lap while the seventh prince wept silently.

They were traitors who deserved death, certainly, but Bram couldn’t help feeling remorse for his role as their executioner. He was no killer hiding among regular men like Baer claimed to be, and he abhorred the act of taking a life, though he knew this round of murder wouldn’t be his last.

“Does it get any easier?”

“Unfortunately, yes… Especially for one who allows his anger to get the better of him…”

“I was swept up in my anger while also enjoying a taste of your power, though it made me feel such terrible pain after…” Bram grimaced. “Yet I still hope killing never becomes easy for me…”

“Worry not. I will stay by your side and keep you on the right path… She wiped away the strands of hair from his brow. “Now, drink from me and heal.”

Rowan pressed her wrist to Bram’s mouth, forcing him to drink the blood dripping from a new cut on her flesh. Surprisingly, the taste of it on his tongue didn’t make him gag. Rowan’s blood was different from Baer’s, and Bram drank his fill of it while knowing her power was healing him.

 

 

Bram sat up feeling much better. A quick inspection of his wounds showed him that they’d scabbed over as if they’d been weeks old instead of being freshly made.

“Thank you.”

The smile Rowan flashed at him caused Bram’s cheeks to redden.

“You still have to claim your rewards.”

That’s when Bram finally noticed the ghostly blue windows waiting patiently in the air.

[CONGRATULATIONS! You have completed the hidden quest [Battle Tutorial]! Rewards will now be distributed.]

“This truly is a day of firsts.” Bram was smiling now too. “Show me…what have I won?”

 

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As a special treat to all the readers, here's an AI (PixAI) generated version of Bram drawn in the ever-classic 90s anime style. Of course, my version of Bram isn't the only one. Y'all probably have your own ideas of how Bram looks.