My body healed surprisingly fast.
I quickly regained my strength after an hour of rest, the stiffness in my limbs fading away like a bad dream.
My gaze lowered to the hovering screen.
[EVENT: JOIN THE ELDIAN ACADEMY]
What should I do now?
In the original game, Ardent joined the Academy to find a cure for his dying sister. But now? Since his sister is fine, will he even join?
Also, I had a more immediate problem: I was homeless. I don't think the remaining chronos will last me a few days of food, let alone a place to stay. I had to do whatever it took to secure a roof over my head.
Creak.
The door opened.
"You are awake." Ardent walked in, carrying a wooden tray with lunch. The smell of roasted fowl filled the small room.
"Oh, yeah. I am fine now," I said, sitting up.
"Let's eat together."
We sat at a small, wobbly table. His little sister sat across from me, surprisingly devouring a chicken leg with a massive appetite for someone so small.
Should I start this conversation now?
I cleared my throat. "So, Ardent."
"Hmm?" He looked up, chewing.
"You see… I don't really have any place to go. Since I am an orphan and all…"
I scratched the back of my head, putting on my best pitiful, kicked-puppy expression.
"And my purse was stolen by some thugs before I met you, so…"
"It's okay. You can stay here," Ardent said instantly, without a hint of hesitation. "It's only my sister and me here."
The sister nodded in agreement as she munched on the meat, grease staining her cheeks.
Well, that was quick.
"You did save my life after all. Also, we will be moving to the Capital anyway, so you can come with us too," Ardent added casually.
Capital? Why would I go to the Capital?
Oh, wait. The Academy is in the Capital.
"Are you joining the Academy?" I asked, testing the waters.
"Of course," Ardent nodded, his expression turning serious. "It was my mother's last wish, so I have to."
I froze, my fork hovering halfway to my mouth.
Mother?
There was no mention of his mother in the game. In the lore, they were orphans raised by the dwarfs.
Ahh, I'm going insane. What kind of game is this?
Seeing my frozen, crazy expression, Ardent asked, "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," I lied quickly, shoving food into my mouth to hide my panic.
Yeah. I'm fine. I'm just realising my game knowledge is becoming trash.
I decided I needed to vent my frustration tonight.
After eating, I stepped outside. The afternoon sun was warm, but the wind carried a chill.
I wanted to try the new power I got.
Blood Manipulation sounded cool when I first heard it, but the name implied a cost: to use it, I needed the blood.
And with Academy enrollment happening soon…
I needed confidence.
I needed muscle memory.
I needed to know I wouldn't freeze when it mattered.
Training on straw dummies wasn't enough.
I needed something that hit back.
Someone I wouldn't feel guilty hurting.
And those thugs owed me blood.
Perfect test subjects.
I walked until I found an abandoned training ground on the edge of the district. It was empty, save for a few broken dummies. I took out the small kitchen knife I had stolen, borrowed from Ardent's table.
I will give it back later.
I took a deep breath.
Here goes nothing.
I pressed the blade against my palm and sliced.
Sting.
I hissed as the skin parted. Red liquid welled up and began to flow.
It started with droplets. I focused on them, trying to mentally command them to stop falling.
Stop. Float. Do something.
Nothing happened. The blood kept dripping onto the dusty ground.
Ahh, shit. Why won't it work?
Should I do a bigger cut?
I gritted my teeth and sliced my wound again, deeper this time. Thick, dark droplets fell quickly, splattering on my boots.
Fuck, I sliced too hard.
Losing blood made me dizzy.
After a small pool gathered on the dirt, I raised my hand like a necromancer. I closed my eyes and slowly said, with as much gravitas as I could muster:
"Arise."
...
The blood remained a puddle.
Why isn't it working?
[HINT: THINK OF A WEAPON IN YOUR MIND AND FOCUS ON MOLDING IT]
Hey System, thanks for being so quick with your instructions.
"A weapon, I mumbled.
I looked at the kitchen knife in my hand. It was small, simple. I closed my eyes and pictured it in my mind, the curve of the blade, the handle, the weight.
I let out a deep breath and raised my shaking, bleeding hand toward the spilt blood.
[SKILL: BLOOD MANIPULATION ACTIVATED]
A strange sensation washed over me, like an invisible string connecting my mind to the liquid.
The droplets on the ground shuddered. Slowly, they defied gravity, rising into the air as a cohesive red blob. Under my mental command, the liquid elongated, sharpened, and hardened.
The sharpness, the grip, everything moulded to match the image in my mind.
It solidified.
I opened my eyes.
Floating in my hand was a replica of the kitchen knife, but this one was made of crystallised, crimson blood.
"So fucking cool," I whispered.
I swung it around, slashing at the air and doing cool poses like an idiot. It felt lighter than steel, but harder.
[BLOOD MANIPULATION LASTS FOR 60 SECONDS]
What? Only 60 seconds?
Can I inject this blood back into my body?
[NO]
Great. So I can't do this often, and I can't even depend on it unless I get wounded first.
It was a double-edged sword. I could either heal myself to stop bleeding or use that blood to make a weapon and fight while injured. I couldn't do both.
Splat.
The sixty seconds ended. The knife lost its form and splashed back onto the ground as a useless puddle.
I didn't even get to hit anything.
But… I could feel it. It had more sharpness and a stronger grip than the kitchen knife.
And if I injured the other person first…
Then the source of blood would be endless.
A dark grin spread across my face.
If I want to stand a chance at the Academy…
I need to stop being afraid of bleeding.
I wrapped the cut in a torn sleeve and headed out.
The night moon lit up the streets in a sickly grey hue, casting long shadows across the cobblestones.
I roamed the streets deliberately.
Not to find trouble…
But to practice surviving it.
Somewhere between pride and desperation, I whispered to myself:
"If I can't handle street trash, how am I supposed to face monsters?"
"Damn it! We should have killed that kid last night!"
The bald thug roared in anger as he stumbled out of a bar called The Rusty Tankard. The stench of cheap ale and sweat followed him out.
"It's okay, boss. We can find him again," his underlings stammered, trying to calm him down.
They walked drunkenly toward the slums. As they crossed a narrow alleyway filled with trash and broken crates, they stopped.
A figure was standing in the middle of the path, wearing a dark hood and a piece of cloth tied around his face as a makeshift mask.
The thugs stopped in their tracks, shocked.
Then, one of them squinted.
"Boss… It's the kid we stabbed last night."
What the hell?
I froze.
What is the use of this mask if they recognise me at a glance?!
I even prepared a cool nickname. "Lost From Light, or "Vengeance", or something edgy.
"What, punk? You didn't die already?" the bald man shouted, burping loudly.
Whatever. It's not like I'm going to kill them. I just need practice.
"I'm talking to you, little shit!"
The bald man grabbed an empty glass bottle from his belt and threw it.
Clang.
I dodged swiftly, the bottle shattering against the wall behind me. Shards of glass rained down.
I let out a small breath, the cold night air filling my lungs.
Fear twisted in my stomach, but under it, excitement thrummed like electricity.
If I back down now, I have no right to dream of the Academy.
I gripped the kitchen knife in my right hand.
"One slash is enough," I muttered.
I kicked off the ground and ran toward them.
It's time for a payback.