Vladimir, the Crimson Reaper.
Commonly known as a vampire.
His true identity? A blood mage.
There's not much difference between the two, really. In fact, compared to "blood mage," the term "vampire" was easier for people to accept, especially in the Muggle world, where countless tragic and romantic vampire stories had already softened the concept.
Allen had never hoped that blood magic would be seen as just another branch of normal magic. Frankly speaking, this was probably one of the darkest and most feared forms of black magic, so even when he managed to gather the complete legacy of Vladimir from the American side, he still chose not to accept it.
Why? Mostly because of the unknown.
Garen's legacy had altered his body significantly, who knew what kind of changes the vampire's legacy might bring?
At this point in time, with Voldemort not yet risen, any noticeable change in Allen could easily make him a target. The consequences were obvious. So, he'd always ignored the vampire legacy as an option. But now, with the enemy practically breathing down his neck, what was the point of hesitation?
Ding!
[System notification: You have obtained a shard of the Crimson Reaper, Vladimir. Legacy synchronization possible.]
Ding!
[System notification: You have obtained a shard of the Crimson Reaper, Vladimir. Legacy synchronization possible. You have acquired Count Vladimir's legacy. Deep-level inheritance unlocked!]
You've got to be kidding me,
Now of all times?
Allen didn't even have time to complain. He barely glanced at the system notifications before opening himself to the incoming torrent of knowledge. Strangely, the information flowed into him with ease, as if he had once mastered it and was now simply brushing dust off an old notebook to review the content.
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Meanwhile, on the other side of the battlefield, the squad leader, Wizard Rostov, slowly pulled his wand away from the corpse at his feet.
What was his name again? Gavrila? Or Ivan?
Who cares. He was just another young fool. Rostov clearly remembered seeing this boy around the Ministry a few times. The kid was diligent, so much so that Rostov had even asked his name once.
But what does it matter now?
At this moment, they were traitors.
The Ministry of Magic had long and clearly forbidden any unauthorized involvement in political struggles. Countless lives had already been lost because of this rule. So what was one more body? It changed nothing.
In previous conflicts, the Ministry had seized over a dozen breeding grounds for controlled magical creatures. After all, herbs didn't grow, dry themselves, and magically turn into potions on their own. Similarly, magical beasts didn't willingly offer their tails, fur, or nerves to be used as wand cores. And don't even get started on the rare materials needed to craft enchanted tools.
And yet, what were these Muggle-born wizards thinking?
Trying to influence the wizarding world through the Muggle one?
For generations, the most cooperation the wizarding world offered was ensuring the Muggle Prime Minister's protection. When did the noble wizarding class ever need to ally with Muggles?
They even sent wizards to kidnap the Prime Minister!
Unforgivable.
These people deserved nothing less than to be exiled to the Ice Prison to harvest frostblossoms for the rest of their lives.
It was an internal split.
At first, the Ministry thought the rebellious wave had been crushed. But unexpectedly, not only had the dissidents seized large amounts of magical creature territory, they'd also planted agents deep within the Ministry itself.
Today's mission was to retrieve a supposed defector.
But to their surprise, he was caught before he could even escape.
Due to treaty restrictions, they couldn't take action directly.
But then those fools broke the treaty themselves?
Idiots.
Rostov shifted his gaze from the corpse to the direction where two others had fled. Whoever they were, whatever they were doing, today, no one would leave alive.
Based on what had happened earlier, they were likely involved in the rebellion. That alone was reason enough.
Rostov clenched his teeth as pain flared in his right leg,
The porridge. That cursed porridge. It was an insult to his noble bloodline!
If he didn't kill those two bratty wizards today, the entire Ministry would mock him. A noble wizard, a strong contender for the next Minister of Magic, brought down by a pot of porridge? Ridiculous.
Even though the cleaning spells had wiped away the mess completely, the blisters from the burns couldn't be healed with any emergency spell he knew. And as for asking his subordinates to heal him? Don't be absurd. That would only ensure the story spread faster.
The thought only fueled his rage.
Ever since Grindelwald had raised an army and threatened their world, the Ministry had supported new Muggle forces and killed off plenty of disobedient wizards in the process.
He lifted his head, scanning for the two children who had vanished.
They couldn't have gone far, especially not at their age. There was no way they could've learned Apparition yet.
And that boy, he had a healing spell. There was no way Rostov would allow that spell to be passed down through any other family.
Wait…
That boy was walking back?
Alone? Without even that strange magical creature?
Was this surrender? Or maybe he thought sacrificing himself would give the girl a chance to escape?
Ridiculous.
They were elite wizards. A kid could never slow down their entire squad.
Still, tricking him into coming out before combat wasn't a bad tactic, less risk of him dying in battle and losing the knowledge of that healing spell.
"Hey, kid, " Rostov raised a hand to stop his subordinates from attacking. He was planning to trick the boy.
Too bad the boy's response was anything but slow or confused.
With a sudden burst, blood exploded from the boy's body like a shower of scarlet pear blossoms.
At the same time, a red glow spread from the ground beneath their feet, rushing outward like wildfire across dry grass. Before they could react, the entire squad was swallowed by blood-soaked earth.
Only now did the elite wizards begin to respond. There were no stupid questions like "What have you done?!", just over a dozen spells launched straight at the pale boy who had triggered two blood spells in quick succession.
But the boy didn't flinch.
As the spells neared, his body melted like wax meeting a red-hot iron rod, turning into a blood-like puddle and vanishing from sight.••┈┈┈┈┈༓┈┈┈┈┈•••
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