The Drake Blood Tales

A week passed, and Fallion officially became a student at the Mage Society, diving into the study of various magical disciplines and their anomalies.

"Alright, today's class will be with Mr. Noblanc...?" Fallion murmured to himself as he gathered his books. Despite never having formal education, his parents' extensive library had supplied him with a wealth of knowledge, both practical and theoretical.

On his way to the Mage Society building, some guards stopped him, cautioning him about reports of a strange assassin in the area. Fallion, uninterested in dwelling on the matter, gave a polite nod and continued on his way.

Upon entering the classroom, he was greeted by Noblanc. "Well, Mr. Fallion, we meet again," the mage said with a faint smile.

"Yes, Mr. Noblanc," Fallion replied, taking his seat.

As the lesson began, Noblanc introduced the topic for the day: the fundamentals of mana and magical output.

"Alright, class," Noblanc began, "while some of you might already be familiar with this, it never hurts to review the basics."

He gestured toward a chalkboard, where diagrams began to form under his magical influence. "Mana is an intrinsic part of everything that exists. It flows through rocks, trees, even water. However, the mana present in nature is subtle, often undetectable without specialized methods. That is why many monks dedicate their lives to studying mana within nature and learning how to draw it out.

"On the other hand, living beings, including all of us, carry our own mana internally. It flows alongside our blood, our bones, even into the smallest parts of our bodies. To cast magic, one must focus their mana, allowing it to resonate with their intent. This process creates what we call a pulse."

He paused to let the class catch up with their notes, then continued. "A pulse is the foundation of magic—it's the spark. With enough focus and skill, this pulse can be shaped into spells. For those with exceptionally strong magic pulses, it's even possible to manifest raw elemental energy, like fire or lightning, without formal spellcasting."

Fallion diligently wrote down every word, eager to absorb this knowledge.

Some of Fallion's classmates raised their hands, curiosity lighting their faces. One asked, "Sir, how about spells and their incantations? How do they work?"

Noblanc turned to the blackboard and began writing as he spoke. "A magic pulse requires a medium to transform into a spell. This medium is what we call a catalyst," he explained. Before continuing, he opened a magic tome, summoning spectral words that floated and shimmered around the classroom, capturing everyone's attention.

"However," Noblanc continued, gesturing to the spectral words, "the type of catalyst and the nature of the spell vary depending on the magic being cast." He turned back to the board and began writing again. "Let me explain the three basic forms of magic:

Arcane: This form draws from the environment, manipulating natural elements such as fire, water, wind, or earth. Arcane magic is grounded in the material world.

Sorcery: This involves raw mana manipulation, shaped to meet the caster's needs. Examples include simple magical blasts, mana arrows, or, at advanced levels, creating magical armaments.

Miracles: The most challenging of the three, miracles require not just mental focus but also a connection to the caster's soul. Often referred to as prayers, miracles invoke divine intervention or aid. Each type of miracle demands a specific catalyst to channel the divine energies effectively."

Noblanc paused, allowing the students to process the information. "Now, as I mentioned, each of these types requires a different kind of catalyst to perform safely and effectively."

Fallion raised his hand. "Sir, is it possible to perform these spells without using a catalyst?"

Noblanc gave a thoughtful nod. "Yes, it's possible. However, it requires exceptional mana mastery and adaptability. That said, performing spells without a catalyst can be risky, especially for certain types. Imagine casting a fireball bare-handed—it could burn your clothes, skin, or even your own mana channels. While some individuals, typically those with extraordinary mana control, may resist such effects, it's not advisable for most mages."

As the class continued, Fallion diligently absorbed the knowledge, making copious notes. Once the session concluded, he approached Noblanc for a one-on-one conversation.

Fallion approached Noblanc after class, his expression serious. "I wanted to ask you about undoing a spell."

Noblanc folded his arms, considering the question. "What you're referring to is often called a curse breaker. Though 'spell breaker' works as well. These are individuals with exceptional mana control, allowing them to sense the nature of a spell and reverse its flow. But you mentioned this spell was cast on you ten years ago?"

Fallion nodded. "Yes, when I was a kid. Something happened... an accident. My mother cast this spell on me. She said it was for the best, but it's always left me feeling uneasy."

Noblanc rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Given that you're a daemon, it's not safe for an elf to perform a curse break on you. However, I might have an alternative." He stepped to a nearby shelf and pulled out a dusty tome, flipping through its pages. "An alchemist once faced a similar dilemma. I believe we can create something called a purifier. It's usually used to detox charms and dispel illusion magic, but I think it could work in your case."

Fallion hesitated, sensing there was more. "But...?"

Noblanc gave him a knowing smile. "Ah, there's always a 'but.'"

"That sounds ominous without context," Fallion quipped.

Noblanc chuckled lightly. "First, I need to understand something important," he said, his tone growing serious. "Why did your mother cast this spell in the first place? And who was she? Spells that last over a decade—even beyond the caster's passing—are no small feat. Even the most decorated mages would find that challenging."

Fallion took a seat, his expression clouded with memories. "When I was about six or seven, my brothers and I were playing in the garden. Pretending to be knights and monsters, wielding wooden sticks. Then... something changed. I felt this strange, overwhelming hatred and anger."

He paused, his voice faltering. "When I woke up, I'd nearly killed my younger brother. My hands were covered in his blood. My father was holding me, trying to calm me, while my mother was healing him."

Noblanc remained silent, listening intently.

"I was terrified of myself," Fallion continued, his voice quieter. "I felt like a monster. That night, my mother came to me while I was crying. She hugged me and told me it was going to be alright. That's when she cast the spell. She said it would save me—and my brothers."

Noblanc let out a slow breath. "So, it's likely a type of counterspell, meant to suppress whatever caused that surge of rage." He paused, then asked, "You mentioned the curse seemed to fade over time. Do you know why?"

Fallion nodded. "After that incident, my father left. He said he was searching for answers. We haven't heard from him since, but we believe he succeeded—at least partially. The curse weakened as the years passed."

Noblanc frowned slightly but didn't press further. Instead, he walked over to a large cauldron. As he began adding ingredients, he explained, "If the spell hasn't fully disappeared, it could still be dangerous—both to you and to others. Better to address it now."

Fallion pondered this for a moment before nodding resolutely. "I've felt like something has been missing from me ever since. If this will help me regain control, I'll do it."

Noblanc studied him briefly, then nodded. "Very well. You should rest. It will take me one to three days to prepare the purifier. In the meantime, focus on your mana control exercises. Administrator Jintaro will be taking my classes for the next few days."

As Fallion left the room, an uneasy feeling gnawed at him. He couldn't shake the sensation of being watched. The city's streets seemed quieter than usual, the shadows longer, stretching unnaturally as he made his way home.

Just as he passed the city walls, he came to an abrupt stop and called out into the seemingly empty night. "You know, I usually don't appreciate being followed. I'm not a celebrity, so you won't gain much from stalking me!"

A figure stepped into view, her movements fluid and deliberate. It was a young woman dressed in strange, unfamiliar attire, her face half-covered by a dark veil. Her clothes shimmered faintly, as if woven with shadow itself.

"You're definitely not from around here," Fallion continued, his tone sharpening. "And it's not polite to stalk people, you know."

The girl merely smiled, her expression calm but unsettling. Without warning, she flicked her wrist, and a barrage of daggers, shimmering with a faint, unnatural glow, shot toward him.

Fallion reacted instantly, drawing his blade in a swift motion and deflecting the incoming projectiles with ease. The sound of metal meeting metal echoed in the still night.

But before he could press the advantage, she was suddenly in front of him, her movements impossibly fast. She chanted softly under her breath, the words barely audible. "Shadow magic… Unearthed Veil."

A swirling mass of dark, fluid-like energy materialized beneath them, coalescing into a watery abyss. Before Fallion could step away, the girl reached out and dragged him into the strange pool.

The sensation was overwhelming. The water felt thick and suffocating, pulling him deeper into its grasp. His limbs grew heavy, his body refusing to respond. Panic flared as he realized the water wasn't just liquid—it was transforming. Within moments, the fluid solidified into unyielding earth, trapping him beneath its weight.

The girl's voice drifted down to him, muffled but clear. "You're not very agile for someone of your power. Stay here. My mistress wishes to meet you."

Fallion gritted his teeth, refusing to accept defeat. Energy surged through his body, a brilliant, chaotic force that exploded outward. The ground around him shattered violently, sending debris flying in every direction. He leaped to his feet, ready for a counterattack.

But the girl was already in front of him, her palm pressed firmly against his chest. Her proximity was unnerving, her voice a whisper in his ear. "You really don't know when to listen, do you?"

A surge of power erupted from her hand, a concentrated wave of energy that tore through Fallion's chest and sent him hurtling backward. He slammed into the ground with a heavy thud, pain radiating through his entire body.

Dazed but determined, Fallion struggled to rise, his hand gripping his blade tightly. This wasn't going to end easily.

Fallion steadied himself, his instincts screaming that this girl was no ordinary adversary. Her precision, agility, and raw power were leagues beyond what he had faced before. A spy? An elite soldier? he wondered. Whoever she is, no mere cultist could deal this kind of damage.

Taking a deep breath, Fallion drew his mother's sword, the blade gleaming faintly with icy energy. His expression hardened, all traces of his usual composure replaced by determination.

Channeling his fire cloak, he let the flames spiral around him, blending with the frosty aura of the sword. The contrasting magics created a thick, swirling mist that blanketed the battlefield. With a burst of speed, Fallion charged through the haze, his blade aimed directly at his opponent.

But as his strike landed, the figure dissipated like smoke. An afterimage.

The girl's voice rang out, dripping with mockery. "You really think you could catch me with the oldest trick in the book?"

Before Fallion could respond, a new barrage of daggers hurtled toward him. He deflected them with precise swings of his blade, but then his eyes caught something—strings attached to the daggers, nearly invisible in the dim light.

"Lightning magic: Shockwave!"

The strings pulsed with crackling energy, sending bolts of lightning directly into Fallion. The impact was devastating, throwing him backward with searing pain coursing through his body.

She's not just skilled; she's a trained warrior, an elite operative. Her movements were flawless, her speed unmatched. She fought like a predator, as swift and precise as a cheetah, but with the raw power of a gorilla. Fallion knew—this was the level of a seasoned soldier.

Wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth, Fallion rose to his feet. His usual restraint gave way to something darker. He began to channel his dark magic, the air around him growing heavy with malevolence.

The girl hesitated, her stance shifting as she murmured to herself. "Lady was right. He isn't human."

Fallion's voice was low but resolute. "I didn't want to use this. But you've left me no choice."

Dark energy erupted around him, coalescing into a massive black flame vortex. The swirling inferno roared with an almost sentient fury, scorching the ground as it expanded.

The girl darted to the side, her agility unmatched as she attempted to evade the devastating flames. But Fallion anticipated her move. With a swift motion, he hurled his mother's sword directly at her.

She caught it midair, a confident smirk forming on her lips. But the expression faded as frost began to creep along the blade, spreading rapidly up her arms and across her body. The freezing magic overwhelmed her before she could react, encasing her entirely in ice.

Fallion stood over her frozen form, his hand glowing with a sinister black flame. He aimed a searing fireball at her, his voice echoing with cold finality. "Give me one good reason not to end you right now."

The battlefield fell silent, the only sound the crackling of the residual flames and the low hum of Fallion's magic.

As Fallion steadied the fireball in his hand, prepared to end the fight, a cold sensation touched his neck. A blade was there, perfectly positioned for a lethal strike.

"I have many reasons to stop you," came a calm, measured voice.

Fallion turned his head slightly, his eyes locking onto a samurai standing mere inches away. The warrior's blade gleamed under the faint moonlight, unwavering. Before Fallion could respond, the sound of soft footsteps drew his attention.

A miko, dressed in traditional attire, walked toward him with an air of authority. Her presence commanded the attention of everyone on the battlefield.

"The girl is just a kunoichi, an expendable pawn for our purpose," the miko said, her tone calm yet firm. "Killing her means nothing to us, nor does it benefit you."

Fallion, his temper restrained but simmering, asked, "Fine, you win. What is it you want?"

The ice encasing the kunoichi began to crack and melt, releasing her from its grip. Fallion's sword was returned to him by one of the samurai, and he lowered his hand, extinguishing the black flame. The samurai stepped back but remained ready, their watchful eyes never leaving Fallion.

The miko offered a faint smile. "I initially mistook you for someone else. But now that I know who you are, I believe I might need your help."

Fallion gave a dry chuckle, his tone laced with sarcasm. "If you need someone's help, maybe don't start by trying to assassinate them."

The miko's smile widened slightly. "Oh, believe me, if we truly wanted you dead, you already would be."

Fallion hated how her words rang with truth. The kunoichi alone had nearly overwhelmed him, and with the miko's entourage of trained samurai, escape seemed impossible. He was too far from Drake Blood territory and well beyond the reach of the city guard.

"What do you want?" Fallion asked, his tone sharper.

The miko's expression shifted to one of subtle calculation. "I understand you have a brother—a rather stubborn one who doesn't listen to you. By no offense, he's stronger than you and leads a growing mercenary guild. His current mission against the Zotho cultists poses... complications for us."

Fallion narrowed his eyes. "What are you saying? Are you cultists?"

The nearest samurai stepped forward angrily. "Watch your tongue, daemon!"

The miko raised a hand, silencing the samurai. "No. We follow our own god and our own faith, not the outer gods worshiped by those cultists. However, as much as we despise them, their actions are—strangely—politically and militarily advantageous for our lord."

Her voice turned colder. "If your brother succeeds in eliminating the cultists, it will disrupt the delicate balance they've inadvertently created. The eastern conflict with the cultists has unified fractured nations, provided them with a common enemy. Should your brother stop them, that unity will dissolve, and the resulting civil wars will plunge us all into chaos."

Fallion folded his arms, frowning. "As much as I'd like to drag that numbskull back, I doubt I have the power to stop him. Besides, I don't even know where he is."

The miko reached into her robes and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. She handed it to Fallion. "This is the location of his headquarters. The mercenary guild he leads grows larger by the day, and their operations against the cultists have drawn considerable attention. You'll find him there."

Fallion took the paper and scanned its contents.

The miko continued. "If you want to stop your brother, meet us in five days at the coastal city of Arnis. Our ship will leave at dawn. If you refuse, we won't force you. Nor will we target you."

Her tone dropped, a dark edge creeping into her voice. "Your brother, however, will be another matter entirely."

With those words, the miko and her companions departed, vanishing into the night like whispers on the wind. Fallion let out a heavy sigh and sat down on a nearby log, turning the paper over in his hands as his mind raced.

What am I supposed to do?

He was lost in thought when a familiar voice broke the silence.