Chapter 10: Seeds Sown
10.0
“How many more places are we going to go to collect the Seeds of Blood?” the man who was the most burly of the group asked. “Was it two? Or is it just one?”
The wisest among the three answered hastily almost spitting words as he spoke, “One, there’s only one last target.”
“Whew! That means we can finally take break and—”
Before the third could finish speaking, the wisest looking man raised a finger and stopped his comrade. “No breaks. Lord Termezt said to return immediately.”
The third man rolled his eyes, and gave a cheeky smile, revealing his pair of fangs that took the lives of countless people, “Come on, Palter. Let alone eat, you haven’t drank much blood when we killed those pathetic humans. Lord Termezt did say you are in charge, but we can’t have you falling on us. As our master’s acolytes, you may immortal, but without nourishment—”
Bam!
Before the third could finish his sentence, Palter struck a fist to the wall, taking out a large chunk of brick with his strength and looked into the other acolyte’s eye.
“Listen, Sozak. What I do with my life is none of your business, if you think someone like me who isn’t pureblood like you, is unfit for this mission, I would like you to reconsider the twenty-six times I have saved your life during our initiation!”
“That’s not what I was…” Sozak’s youthful smile faded, replaced by a hurtful expression.
“None of us thinks that, Palter. Sozak was just concerned, for all we care, you can have all three vials of Lord Termezt’s blood to yourselves. This has nothing to do with your goals.”
“…” Palter shot a death glare at the burly acolyte, it seemed that Palter found another target to unleash the building rage in him.
“Just trust me okay? Out of the three of us, you are the one that can truly become a part of the six royal families. Hell, the Lord Termezt turned you into one of us on his own, that alone is enough for us to think of you as our own. If anything happened to you, we would have to answer to Lord Termezt with our lives.”
Palter’s aggression subsided, his arched brows returned to normal, the popped veins by his pale white skin no longer showed themselves.
Sozak took the opportunity and quickly added, “Y-yeah, Kelgrim is right! I swear by the stake that killed my grandfather, you are more of a vampire than any of us. If you don’t want us asking about why you’re doing your blood fast, just say so.”
“…”
Finally, Palter retracted his arm and moved away from Sozak, leaving a cannonball-sized crater at the spot where he removed his fist.
Sozak and Kelgrim breathed a sigh of relief, had they not undergone initiation to be Lord Termezt’s acolytes along with Palter and formed a bond with him back then, there was no telling what Palter could do.
After all, Palter inherited strong vampiric blood from being turned into a vampire by Lord Termezt, the head of the Termezt Family, just that alone made Palter three times stronger than the average vampire born in the sovereign. While they greatly respected Palter for his reliability and contributions towards Lord Termezt, their fear towards him was just as strong.
Palter’s breath was shallow, his head was not thinking as he would when he feasted on fresh blood. If not for his meticulous planning for the collection of the Seeds of Blood, he would have been driven mad this growing thirst of his.
Blood… I need blood…
Kelgrim and Sozak was just concerned with his wellbeing, they have no doubt seen his shaky eyes, hear his growling stomach, even now, his slender body was shaking from his hunger. He almost let his desires got the better of him, had Kelgrim spoke differently to him earlier, he would have lost all control and struck at them already.
It has been nine days since Palter feasted on any blood, his blood fast was to last until he finally collected the last of the Seeds of Blood, it was the trial that Lord Termezt gave him when he was turned into a fellow vampire.
The blood fast was also a way for Palter to prove himself that he was able to resist the temptation that had caused many vampires their own demise. The longest record of a vampire abstaining from blood was a duration of ten days, but that was only achievable because a vampire noble did it, in comparison to the average vampire, they could only last for four days before they succumb to the madness and hysteria that come from blood deprivation. Should Palter succeed in the ten-day fast that Lord Termezt ordered him to undergo, Palter would be able to prove his worth when Lord Termezt would announce him as his successor in front of the other vampire nobles from the royal families.
That, and there was also one other twisted reason that Palter was abstaining from any nourishment.
Just a little while longer and I’ll see them.
Seeds of Blood, was a type of magic that Lord Termezt had taught them during their initiation days. It’s name came from the magic needed to be placed in living beings who bore strong healthy bodies, when planted in the host, this magic would start siphoning the soul of its host, amalgating their life essence into a red orb.
Just as quickly as they have planted the Seeds of Blood many, many years ago, Palter, Kelgrim, and Sozak have retrieved the fruits of their labor just as quickly.
Just a little more… The fast ends when I see them again…
Under the influence of the magic, the victims who bore the Seeds of Blood would become terminally ill, but would not outright kill them. It was why the three of them was able to locate and collect all hundred and five Seeds of Blood in such a short time.
Their duties as vampire acolytes were to extract the red orbs, harvesting the Seeds of Blood for their glorious master.
There was only one left for them to retrieve. Soon, His Evergrace’s awakening would begin, the plan that their master had in place for decades would soon be in motion.
Palter’s stomach growled once more, but this time a wicked smile came across his face. His eyes became fixated on a map of Dezarith Empire, on the map, there was one large red circle that clearly marked his next target—Parac Village.
“My time for feasting draws near.”
A bad night.
John surmised that everything that happened yesterday was the work of his overactive mind, the fire, the throbbing pain in his head, and the fact that [Heal] not working in his favor.
It was the only explanation.
Flames that left no traces of ash? Even if it was illusion magic that he somehow conjured, it was impossible that he could summon something akin to that without obvious intent. Putting the fact he can’t cast spells that aren’t [Heal] aside, John had zero knowledge on illusion magic.
The painful sensation to his head yesterday was no more than the manifestation of his internalized agony towards what Ephinelyth’s unannounced departed had brought him.
I don’t want a dream like that again… It’s too surreal… I should really watch my sleep schedule more… I’ve heard people gone crazy because they lacked sleep.
“Watch your knees, dude!” a commanding voice brought a halt to John’s monologue, returning him to the reality where he and Randolph was dueling.
Not a moment later, a long blade swung at his lower body, John jumped backwards, barely avoiding the weapon that would have crippled him. John’s grip on his new sword tightened as he repositioned himself. He then raised the his blade horizontally with two hands and charged at Randolph as though he was going to slit his throat.
Randolph moved to a defensive stance with his long sword held in front of him, all prepared to counter John’s obvious frontal charge, “That’s not how you use a single handed sword, holding a sword with two hands is just going to cause you more harm…”
Instead of colliding against Randolph’s sword like how his friend had expected him to, John instead went past Randolph’s defensive stance, stopping himself two steps away from Randolph and drew a clockwise arc with his weapon and made a reverse upwards slash at Randolph’s back.
Randolph attempted to lower his weapon to deflect against John’s attack, but he was too late, John’s blade was in motion, and all Randolph could do was to use his bare wrist to intercept John’s attack.
Krack.
The sound of bone and flesh tearing vibrated in the air. John had his arms up high as Randolph fell to backwards to the ground with his weapon dropped in front of him.
His attack was successful.
Gobbert who was watching the two off them dueling from afar came running towards him the moment the victor of their fight ended. “John tell me you didn’t…”
“Randolph is fine. Look at him yourself,” John said without flinching while he sheathed his arming sword.
“Randolph…” Gobbert called as he moved to aid his defeated friend.
On the patch of green grass sat Randolph who was frozen, his eyes were wide open, mouth opened in an oval shape as he stared as his completely intact left hand. Though John’s blade clearly passed through it, there were no signs of scarring or blood.
For someone who was defeated by John’s improvised attack, his expression was not that of someone who lost, instead, Randolph looked like a child whom discovered a trove of treasures.
“Holy! Fucking! Shiiiittttt!!!” Randolph screamed in joy, he jumped to his feet and started to hold Gobbert by his shoulders. “Gob, Gob, did you see that!? Did you see what happened just now!?”
Gobbert face was scrunched into a complex expression, confused with Randolph’s sudden burst of energy.
“Dudeeeeee, I thought my hand was gone! I felt his blade passing through me, I saw blood, I saw my hand flying. But not a moment later, it reattached!!! That was so scary and amazing at the same time! I didn’t know something like this can happen!”
Gobbert scratched his head and looked at John for an explanation.
John had a smirk on his face, “I silently cast [Heal] when I swung my sword at him. I thought to try something like that out and it worked.”
Randolph’s excited scream caused the other three members of the hero’s party who was watching from the sides to approach them out of curiosity.
“I didn’t know you can silent cast,” Angeline who arrived by his side nudged an arm at John.
“I could do that for awhile now, though this one is a bit different since I had to channel it to the blade. But I am glad it worked.”
“…What?” Helen’s confused voice rang out. “You silent cast your magic and transmitted into your blade?”
“Hmm? Yeah, I was testing out whether if I can push my limits, so I tried casting it in my head when I attacked.”
Angeline made a face, Helen was about to retort at what John said but Scywell placed a hand on her shoulder, and said in a clam voice “John, do you understand the implications of that?”
“Is it not allowed? I was ready to cast [Heal] again if it didn’t work. Though I admit, it was rude of me to use Randolph’s body to experiment with that…”
Scywell shook his head, “That’s not the case… I am sure Randy didn’t mind it. But we are talking about silent casting. To achieve silent casting, it takes years and years of practice of that one spell. Even for you who used only the [Heal] spell throughout your whole life, to achieve silent casting and be able to control it in such a manner is an an incredible feat.”
“I still don’t know if I can do it properly. It’s still experimental…”
Since his emotions from yesterday has not been completely sorted, all he did was to channel his frustrations into the flow of battle. John used what displeasure he felt from the thoughts he had from yesterday to his advantage, but he did not expect for his first ever attempt at silent casting to work, nor did he thought Randolph was not able to defend against his slash.
“You have to teach me that move next time, John. But try to survive him for now.” Randolph patted John’s shoulders before Gobbert, Angeline, and Helen all left the field, returning to the spectator area as they nodded at John from there.
“Umm… Mind filling me in?” John looked to Scywell for answers on his friend’s unusual behavior.
“I have been thinking…” Scywell answered John in a monotone voice. “The way you fight does not follow any pattern nor style that I know of, nor does it have a particular intent in them, it does not seek to protect, it does not show strength, it does not seek to dominate, yet…they flow so naturally when you execute them, John.”
“???”
With a swift motion, Scywell toss the academy jacket that he had on him to the ground, revealing his white buttoned shirt that was perfectly fitted to his agile body. Scywell pulled out the sword he carried all times, the trusty sword that has never left his side since the day John met him.
“Let us duel, you and I,” the words left the hero’s mouth along with breath of mist.
Though it was the shift in temperature around their atmosphere was just a few degrees, it was obvious that the hero before him caused it, Scywell had an icy expression as he stared at John, waiting for John’s reply.
“Why so sudden? You know I am not really a match for you, besides I am still tired from fighting with Randolph—"
“I won’t use my strength, this would be a competition of technique, I will come at you seriously, so feel free use your [Heal] as much as you want.”
“Scywell, I don’t think this necessary, if it’s about Randolph—”
“That has nothing to do with this, I am simply trying to gauge your swordsmanship, nothing more. I kindly suggest you draw your weapon now, before I make you.”
“…”
John hesitantly unsheathed his weapon, he did not understand why Scywell was so insistent, but if he kept on denying the hero, he fear that Scywell would not let him just walk away without a fight.
I never had a choice, do I?
“Here I go!” Scywell announced and charged at John.
“!!!”
Like the wind, Scywell’s body disappeared in a blur from where he stood and appeared in front of John with a downwards strike from above his head. John moved his left arm upwards and deflected Scywell’s attack with ease. Thanks to his shorter stature, John was able to move away from Scywell before another attack landed on him.
This isn’t good… His sword is long, and so are his arms. I don’t have reach unless I charge at him. But if I close our distance, his reflexes are too fast for me to—
Scywell did not allow John to finish his thought, the hero swung his blade to John’s right, forcing John to jerk his torso with all his muscles to just intercept that attack.
John leaped away from Scywell once more, this time, his eyes focused on the guy who was two heads taller than he was. There was no time for him to think when it came to Scywell, the hero’s agility and strength was far to ferocious for him to come up with a plan of attack.
It won’t be long before he exhausted himself from defending and dodging against the hero’s attacks. Though Scywell did say this was a competition between their sword techniques, his toned body undoubtedly gave him an advantage over John when it comes to raw performance.
I can’t outsmart him if he keeps closing in…
Scywell leaned forward and swung the weapon to at John’s arm, he dodged it with a slight of his body, with his momentum, John slithered his way into forward into Scywell’s open chest for a direct attack.
Since John was left handed, he also held his weapon with his dominant hand. Aside from his slightly shorter than average stature—in A’vetheas’ standards, this meant that he was able to close in onto his enemies faster than they could anticipate, John closed in on Scywell like a venomous viper, with his blade aiming straight for the hero’s chest.
“!!!” Scywell with his weapon still in extended in front of him, had no choice but to spin from where he stood to avoid John’s attack. He made a hard twist with his waist, causing him to expose his unguarded back.
A confident smile appeared on John’s face.
It was exactly what John wanted.
With Scywell’s back exposed to him, and his weapon raised high up in the sky, John used his upper body strength and made a slash at Scywell’s open back.
His arming sword tore the hero’s clothes and ripped open a wound that would be fatal. Fortunately for Scywell, John had was casting [Heal] as his blade ran across the hero’s back, healing the wound as quickly as it was etched onto him. All that was left were streaks of red on Scywell’s torn clothes.
“I guess this is the end—"
“Your guard is down.”
Just as those words entered John’s ear, Scywell had turned his body and drove a heavy slash against John’s torso. A stinging pain surged through his body, but the wounds healed themselves when John silently cast [Heal] on reflex.
“If not for this compulsive habit of mine to cast [Heal]… You’ve done it now, Scywell…” John said with a smirk on his face, adrenaline surged through him as he readied his weapon.
“I could say the same for you.” Scywell returned an equally smug look. “I have not used an ounce of magic so far, but it seems that letting you use [Heal] is an unfair advantage in our duel,” he said as he slowly stood from his crouching stance.
With his weapon on his hand, Scywell flicked his wrist and surged magic into his blade. not a moment sooner, frost had gathered at the very steel of Scywell’s weapon making distinct crisps as the sword grew in size. By the time he was done, countless ice shards have arranged themselves on Scywell’s weapon such that not only his blade was reinforced and grew in size, the irregular bumps formed by the ice shards along the sword’s edge was perfect for diminishing any the force that collided against his weapon.
“Now that I have my usual blade, Frost Lance, we are even.”
Right after Scywell declared, he launched himself from the ground and attacked John once more with his enlarged blade of ice with speed that was deemed to be impossible with such as large sword.
John moved to dodge, but when he tried to move his legs, the hero’s blade was already against his, pushing him firmly to the ground as attacks began coming his way in a chain.
One swing, two swings, three swings, Scywell chained his attacks consecutively, all aiming at John’s neck. In terms of speed and technique, Scywell had very well triumphed John, moreover, the subtle freeze damage that came with Scywell’s enhanced weapon would wear away whatever witty thought John might have against the hero’s heavy strikes.
But John was not slowing down. He too, was using [Heal] on himself as Scywell’s ice magic seeped into his skin.
Beads of sweat formed on John’s forehead, his face made different expressions as he reflexively moved his arm to parry each of Scywell’s attacks.
Their weapons clashed, over and over, each successive collision came with a loud clang, the sustained pace of metal banging onto each other almost made it seem like John and Scywell were composing a series of musical notes for an unspoken song.
The way John fought, it was akin to a dance, a dance where he held the tune and pacing. The way he wrung his body backwards when Scywell made a forward lunge at him, the way his feet moved in quick light steps.
Scywell may have been on the offensive, but he had not landed a direct attack against John aside from the near cuts he could have made if not for John’s erratic movements.
Even with his unusual way of sword fighting, it was all John could do against such an experience swordsman.
He is going faster and faster… I don’t think I can’t do anything more than parry…
Scywell himself could have easily won against John if he used the strength that was given to him as the holder of the hero title. Having experienced multitudes of combat throughout his life had made him strong, but there was a limit to what the human body could output.
Yet, here he was pushing John further and further back from where they started their duel. Though the slash John delivered to his back was immediately healed the moment the mythril blade made contact with his back, the uncertainty he sensed in John’s sporadic movements disturbed him greatly.
Undoubtedly, he was sent to deal with monsters by the empire that not even a battalion soldiers could have subdued and came out victorious each and every time. But when he limited himself to the strength and speed his body had, fighting against someone who was thinking and adapting to each of his attacks was different.
His attacks had to be precise. It was not that he could unleash the full brunt of his strength and end their duel just like that.
He was Scywell Shatterstep, one of the first humans to have received the blessing from one of the Archangels. He was humanity’s hope, their beacon of justice, there would come a time when he would be tested by the world itself that whether he was worthy of the Great Archangel of Compassion’s blessing.
Scywell gritted his teeth, he was unable to see an opening in John’s defense, having taken by surprise from John earlier had made him cautious in his attacks, he can’t be to sure that John might pull something wild like earlier.
I am just out of touch with my physical-self, all that magic from the great archangel had made me complacent, this is just another challenge to be overcome as Scywell Shatterstep, the human.
His days of travelling around the empire and carrying out his duties had made him forget about the promised moment where his worthiness would be tested. The moment when his heroic powers granted by the Archangel was not able to solve the worries that he have.
The promised moment for his heroic awakening. The moment that he realize his purpose as the Archangel of Compassion’s chosen one.
It was why he was handicapping himself when going up against John today. If his reliance on his holy powers made him neglect his human side, his humanly skills, his personality, what good is there for him to wield such powers to protect the innocent? To prepare for that moment, he was hoping delve deeper into his own psyche by having a duel with John who wield his weapon like an instrument of expressing his individuality.
Scywell made an oath to someone a long time ago, he promised to live a life according to his own terms, and perhaps, just perhaps, he would come to understand that what lies beyond his title of a hero, what his true heroic self was after his thirty years of living.
Then Scywell saw it, the tremor in John’s thighs, the wavering gaze in him as he moved to deflect Scywell’s thurst.
There!
Like a perfectly choreographed movement, Scywell made a 180 degree turn with his arm, redirected it towards John hand and knocked his weapon off his hand. Leaving Scywell’s blade pointing at John’s neck.
Thus, concludes the battle between the hero and John.
