Dragging my broken body through the shadows of Veridia City felt like walking through hell itself. Each step was agony, the exposed bones in my back grinding against one another with every movent. Blood continued to seep from my wound, leaving a trail I couldn't afford to leave.
"This is insanity," the Man with the Mustache muttered beside , his eyes constantly darting around for pursuers. "You should be dead ten tis over. Your stubbornness is the only thing keeping you alive."
I managed a weak smile. "Then I'll stay stubborn."
"We still need one more material," he said, tugging nervously at his facial hair. "The ancient text was specific—we need essence of silver lotus, crushed dragon scale, black winter root, and..." he hesitated.
"And?" I pressed.
"Blood from soone with your... unique physique." He looked at apologetically. "Without it, the protective ward won't hold in the Withered Lands. You'll die within hours."
I leaned against a wall, my vision swimming. "My blood?"
"Fresh blood, mixed with the other ingredients at the boundary itself." He peered at my ghostly pale face. "But in your condition, losing any more blood would kill you."
The cold reality settled over . Even this desperate escape plan was falling apart.
"I need a week," I finally said. "One week to recover enough strength. Then I'll accompany you to gather whatever we need."
He nodded reluctantly. "I can hide you sowhere safe until then. The Guild won't think to look—"
"No," I cut him off. "I have other arrangents to make first."
His eyes widened. "You can't be serious! You can barely stand!"
I pushed myself away from the wall, nearly collapsing as I did. "Go prepare everything else. I'll et you in one week at the arranged location."
"Knight, this is madness—"
"One week," I repeated firmly, already shuffling away.
The journey to Erson Hols's residence took twice as long as it should have. By the ti I arrived, the eastern sky was lightening with the first hints of dawn. I slipped through his garden like a wraith, leaving bloody handprints on his pristine white walls.
When I reached his window, I tapped weakly. Once, twice.
The window flew open almost imdiately, Erson's sleep-disheveled face appearing. His eyes widened in shock.
"Liam?" he hissed. "Are you insane? The entire Guild is hunting for you!"
"Let in," I whispered. "Quickly."
He helped through the window, suppressing a gasp when he saw my back. "By the gods, Liam. What happened to you?"
"Bancroft's Prajna Ruler," I managed, collapsing onto his floor. "Erson, I need your help."
He quickly secured the room, drawing curtains and activating a sound barrier formation before kneeling beside .
"You shouldn't be here," he said, examining my wound with horror. "This is..." he swallowed hard. "This is beyond my ability to heal."
"I'm not here for healing," I replied, my voice stronger than I felt. "I have a proposition."
Erson's expression grew wary. "What kind of proposition?"
I t his eyes steadily. "I want you to capture and hand over to the Veridia City Martial Guild."
Silence stretched between us as he processed my words. Then he laughed—a short, disbelieving sound.
"You've lost too much blood," he said flatly. "You're delirious."
"I'm perfectly lucid," I countered. "Think about it, Erson. Your position in the Guild is precarious since you helped before. Delivering to them would restore your standing, maybe even earn you a promotion."
Erson stared at , his face unreadable. "You realize what they'll do to you? After what you did to their academy?"
I nodded slowly. "I do."
"Then why?" he demanded. "Why surrender now, after everything?"
I coughed, spitting blood onto his expensive carpet. "Because if I don't, they'll torture Isabelle to draw out. They know I'll co for her eventually."
Understanding dawned in his eyes. "You're sacrificing yourself for her."
"No," I corrected him. "I'm buying ti. The Guild thinks I'm their biggest threat, but they don't understand what's really happening. There are forces at work beyond their comprehension." Visit My Virtual Library Empire (*) for more.
Erson ran a hand through his hair, visibly conflicted. "And what exactly am I supposed to tell them? That you just wandered into my ho and surrendered?"
"Tell them you found hiding, severely wounded. You overpowered easily." I grimaced as a fresh wave of pain washed over . "It won't be hard to believe."
He paced the room, agitated. "This is suicide, Liam. You know that, right? They'll execute you publicly. Make an example of you."
"They'll try," I agreed.
Sothing in my tone made him pause. He studied my face intently. "You have another plan."
It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyway. "I always have another plan."
"And you're not going to tell what it is."
"The less you know, the safer you'll be," I replied. "I just need you to do this one thing. Deliver to them in three days' ti."
"Three days?" he repeated incredulously. "Why not now?"
"I have one more stop to make first," I said. "And I need a little ti to recover, or I won't survive long enough for your betrayal to an anything."
Erson laughed again, this ti with genuine humor. "You're the craziest bastard I've ever t, Knight."
"Is that a yes?" I pressed.
He sighed deeply. "Get out of here. I'll give you your three days. And Liam?" His expression grew serious. "Whatever you're planning, I hope it works. For both your sakes."
I nodded gratefully, then dragged myself back to the window. "I was never here."
"Obviously," he replied dryly. "The Liam Knight I know would never be stupid enough to walk into a trap like this."
I managed a weak smile before disappearing into the fading darkness.
My final destination lay at the furthest edge of Veridia City—a modest compound nestled against the northern mountains. By the ti I reached it, mid-morning sun beat down on my back, scorching my exposed flesh. My vision kept fading in and out, and several tis I had to stop and vomit blood.
The compound appeared abandoned at first glance, but I knew better. Ignazio Bellweather valued his privacy above all else.
The legendary War God of the Veridia City Battle Zone had retired here after decades of bloodshed. So said he'd grown weary of killing. Others believed he'd been forced out by jealous rivals. Whatever the truth, one fact remained undisputed—he hadn't been seen in public for over fifteen years.
I stumbled to his gate, leaving bloody handprints on the worn wood. No guards patrolled the periter. Bellweather needed no protection beyond his reputation.
"Iggy Bellweather!" I called out, my voice embarrassingly weak. "I need to speak with you!"
Silence answered . I tried again, louder this ti.
"Ignazio Bellweather! It's Liam Knight! I've co to—"
The gate exploded outward, missing my face by inches. Through the settling dust erged a figure I'd only seen in ancient paintings and faded battle records.
Ignazio Bellweather stood well over six feet tall, his massive fra sohow managing to appear both muscular and withered at once. Long gray hair hung in tangled locks around a face weathered by ti and violence. But his eyes—those were the eyes of a much younger man, burning with intelligence and barely contained rage.
His aura hit like a physical blow, nearly driving to my knees. Raw, unrefined power radiated from him in waves that made the air shimr.
"Liam Knight," he growled, his voice like stones grinding together. "You've got so nerve! You dare to co find ?"
I t his gaze steadily, summoning what little dignity I could while standing in a pool of my own blood.
"I need your help," I said simply.
Bellweather's eyes narrowed as he took in my condition. "You're dying," he observed bluntly.
"Yes."
"And you expect to prevent that?"
"No," I replied. "I expect you to teach how to prevent it myself."
A strange expression crossed his face—sothing between amusent and outrage. "Teach you? Boy, I haven't taught anyone in twenty years."
"I know." I swayed on my feet, darkness creeping into the edges of my vision. "But I'm not asking for charity. I'm offering you sothing in exchange."
Bellweather crossed his massive arms. "What could a half-dead fugitive possibly offer ?"
I reached into my spatial ring with trembling fingers and withdrew a small wooden box. It took all my remaining strength to hold it out to him.
"This."
Curiosity overca his hostility. He took the box, examining it carefully before opening it. Inside lay a single vial of crimson liquid.
His head snapped up, eyes wide with shock. "Where did you get this?"
"From the source," I answered. "The woman they're holding captive at the Guild. Isabelle Ashworth."
Bellweather stared at the vial, then back at . "Do you even know what this is?"
"Blood from the Ashworth bloodline. Containing traces of the Original Ancestor's essence."
His eyebrows rose fractionally. "You understand more than you should."
"I understand that you need it," I pressed. "That you've been searching for it for decades."
Bellweather's face hardened. "And what exactly do you want in exchange for this... miracle?"
"Three things," I replied, forcing strength into my voice despite my fading consciousness. "First, teach your Body Reinforcent technique. Second, give access to your library of forbidden combat arts. And third..."
I paused, knowing my next request would be the most outrageous.
"I want you to help infiltrate the Veridia City Martial Guild and rescue Isabelle Ashworth."
Silence stretched between us. Then, unexpectedly, Bellweather laughed—a harsh, rusty sound like he'd forgotten how.
"You really are dying," he said. "Your brain is clearly not getting enough blood."
I took a step forward, stumbling slightly. "I'm serious."
"Oh, I know you are. That's what makes it so absurd." He studied the vial again, turning it to watch the light play through the crimson liquid. "This blood is indeed precious. Worth a great deal to . But worth risking my life against the entire Guild?" He shook his head. "Not even close."
I had one last card to play. "I can get you more. As much as you need."
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How?"
"Help rescue her, and I'll ensure you have regular access to her blood—freely given, not stolen." I t his gaze unflinchingly. "I give you my word."
Bellweather studied intently, as if searching for signs of deception. "Even if I believed you could fulfill that promise, why would I teach soone as weak as you? You couldn't even defend yourself against one attack from Bancroft."
The insult stung, but I didn't let it show. "Because I have sothing no other student has ever offered you."
"And what's that?"
I smiled grimly. "The Chaotic Body. I can cultivate both light and dark energies simultaneously. Your techniques would reach their full potential in ."
His eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "Impossible. That bloodline died out centuries ago."
In response, I summoned the last dregs of my energy. Golden light spiraled up my right arm while darkness coiled around my left—a manifestation of dual energies that should have been mutually exclusive.
Bellweather stared, montarily speechless.
I swayed dangerously, the display draining what little strength I had left. "So," I managed, my voice barely audible, "do we have a deal?"
The world tilted sideways as my legs finally gave out. The last thing I saw before unconsciousness claid was Ignazio Bellweather's weathered face, his expression unreadable as he reached out to catch my falling body.
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