Chapter 69: Blood Bond
Emanuel hesitated. His eyes shifted, calculating. "May I ask the purpose, My Lord?"
Raven met his gaze directly. "I'm reclaiming Azmar Town. The banquet is the first step—public support, noble backing, reconstruction preparations. But I don't know the finer details of hosting one. That's where you come in."
Worry crept into Emanuel's expression. "Then… we must overhaul the mansion itself. Doors, windows, carpets, curtains—all replaced with branded ones. The chandelier is old and creaks; nobles will notice. Staff uniforms must be custom-made. And you, My Lord, will need a proper suit—Henry Royal Tailors would be ideal."
He continued before Raven could protest.
"Accessories matter even more. Your amulet is beautiful, but the chain… looks rusted. The bracelet, the ring, the monocle—they seem like alley-market pieces. If you wore something from Carter Accessories, the nobles would treat you far differently. Their cheapest watch is around five hundred gold coins. Their finest? One hundred thousand."
Raven stared at him.
(The man has no idea this 'rusty' amulet could buy a duchy.)
"Are those accessories artifacts?" Raven asked.
"No, My Lord." Emanuel adjusted his file. "Just rumors of being made with legendary materials—mithril, orichalcum, alexandrite gems, elven steel, mystic leather… whether true or not, nobles value prestige. Also, entertainment is expected. Music, dancing, sparring exhibitions. Hiring actors or musicians from the capital would elevate the event."
Raven sighed. "Anything else?"
"Yes." Emanuel's tone dimmed. "Gifts."
"Gifts?"
"Guests bring gifts to the host. Their value shows how highly they think of you. But…" He paused. "Holmes Household hasn't enjoyed goodwill for years. Many nobles may decline the invitation."
Raven's jaw tightened.
(Not surprising. You avoided every banquet for five years.)
Emanuel softened his voice. "It isn't hopeless, My Lord. Attend other banquets. Build connections. Count Spade is hosting one for his seventh daughter on September twentieth. Rumor says he will announce her engagement. If you attend and offer a good gift, you might earn his favor."
"I'll consider it." Raven folded his arms. "How much should I allocate for this banquet?"
"What is your budget, My Lord?" Emanuel asked cautiously. In his eyes, the Holmes Household was barely afloat—small shop revenue, children training, no major assets. He didn't dare imagine any wealth beyond twenty thousand coins.
"Maybe… twenty thousand gold coins?" Raven suggested.
Emanuel kept a straight face, but a storm of thoughts flickered behind his eyes.
(That's everything we have… isn't it?)
Still, he bowed. "That will suffice, My Lord."
Raven reached for a leather pouch on the table and placed it in Emanuel's hands.
"This contains two hundred platinum coins. Start with the mansion's interiors. Replace everything that looks old. Make the banquet hall luxurious."
Emanuel froze. His fingers stiffened around the pouch.
(Two hundred… platinum? This isn't naivety—this is madness. Or power.)
He bowed deeply. "Yes, My Lord."
Raven moved to the writing desk, dipped a quill, and penned two letters with swift strokes. His seal pressed into the wax with a soft clack.
"Deliver these."
Emanuel accepted them, then blinked at the names.
"To Daley Findlay… and Anastasia Ravenshield?" He looked up, bewildered.
Raven's gaze lingered on Emanuel, sharp as a needle.
"Is there a problem?" he asked quietly.
Emanuel stiffened. "N-No, My Lord." He slid the letters into his file with overly careful fingers.
"Then bring me something to eat."
Emanuel bowed and hurried out.
The moment the door clicked shut, Raven's expression darkened.
"He still looks down on this house," Raven muttered, tongue clicking in annoyance.
[He lied as well.] Zera's voice drifted through his mind, cool and certain.
'I noticed. He's still sending information to the Humpherys,' Raven replied silently.
[What do you plan to do?]
'Killing him will only call for another spy. Controlling him lets me decide what leaks… and what doesn't.'
A cold glimmer flickered in his eyes.
Minutes passed in stillness.
The door opened again, and Emanuel stepped in carrying a tray overflowing with dishes—roasted lamb glistening with oil, buttered vegetables steaming, a thick stew whose scent filled the room. Raven barely glanced at the food.
Emanuel set the tray down and retreated a step. "My Lord, your meal is read—"
"Sit." Raven tapped the wooden chair beside him.
Emanuel froze, then obeyed. "Y-Yes, My Lord."
"Remove your shirt."
Shock flickered across his face. But he removed it, folding it with trembling fingers.
Raven studied him, eyes unblinking.
"Do you truly wish to serve the Holmes Household for the rest of your life?"
Emanuel swallowed hard. "Y-Yes, My Lord."
Raven leaned back slightly, voice composed, almost casual.
"I don't trust easily. Nor do I have time to manage every servant's loyalty." His fingers lifted. A faint smile ghosted across his lips. "So I prepared… a spell."
A bead of crimson welled at his fingertip.
"Blood Bond."
The droplet hardened mid-air into a needle and shot forward. Emanuel flinched, but the blood pierced straight into his chest, sinking deep into his heart.
His breath caught.
A scorching sting exploded through his chest, then raced through his bloodstream like molten iron. His body trembled; sweat broke across his brow.
Raven spoke as though discussing weather.
"The spell gives me complete control. You cannot disobey. If you try, you die in two minutes."
Emanuel's knees buckled. He fell forward, gasping, clawing at the floor as if the burning inside might leak out.
Raven picked up his spoon and began eating.
"Tell me, Emmanuel. Have you been working for the Humpherys?"
Emanuel opened his mouth—lie ready on his tongue—
And agony spiked through his heart.
He choked, collapsing further.
"As I said, no lying," Raven murmured coldly.
Realization dawned in Emanuel's eyes.
A Wizard's disciple… he's a Wizard's disciple!
"Y-Yes, My Lord! I'm still working for the Humphery House!" The pain vanished the moment the truth left him.
Raven chewed a piece of lamb thoughtfully. "Hmm. How much do they know?"
"E-Everything about the household, My Lord," Emanuel said, kneeling, helpless.
(Good. He only knows what I allow him to see.) Raven thought.
His hidden training grounds, his finances—all untouched.
He began questioning Emanuel about the graduates, the Sepoy Mercenaries, the children.
Each answer only confirmed how tightly Raven had controlled all real information.
(He thinks my knights can only swing sticks and ride horses? Good.)
Raven reached for blank paper and ink, swiftly writing names and superficial details.
"You may send this list to the Humpherys."
He tossed the sheet. Emanuel caught it, brows furrowing.
(Eight apprentice Walkers… and the rest official rank? He's listing their skills? Why would he show this?) Confusion swirled in his mind.
Raven's tone sharpened.
"Explain Azmar's borders and the surrounding regions."
Emanuel straightened instinctively. "Y-Yes, My Lord. Baroness Elara's territory lies north. Baron Gideon's is to the south; Viscount Alaric's to the northwest. Further west is Count Spade's land. The eastern side… only vast woods. A train route connects Giaris to Viscountess Rowina's Watchel City, then passes through Elara's region before reaching the Margrave Blackwater territory. To reclaim Azmar, the easiest method is taking the train to Ythendale, then going by carriage."
Raven considered it. "Reasonable… but we'll depart from here. I need to transport many items."
He finished another bite and waved a hand.
"You may go. Begin purchasing what the mansion needs. And tell Marcellus to meet me."
Emanuel bowed repeatedly, fear tightening his steps, and escaped the room.
Raven continued his breakfast until another knock arrived.
"Enter."
A burly man stepped in—weathered face, steady eyes. He bowed.
"You called, My Lord?"
Raven nodded and kept eating. "I'm hosting a banquet on September twenty-ninth. Until then, stay close to Emanuel. Watch him."
Marcellus's eyes narrowed. "Watch him? My Lord… wouldn't killing the rat be easier?"
Raven smiled faintly. "After the banquet. Kill him now, and people will sense movement. We need silence until Azmar falls."
Marcellus understood immediately. "Of course, My Lord. Hiding strength before the strike."
"You may go."
The man bowed once more and left, silent as a shadow.
Raven resumed eating, calm as though nothing at all had happened.
…
"Let's start with spearmanship," Raven said as he finished eating.
Five years since he last touched this part of himself—five years of staring at a wall he couldn't break in the illusion world.
Before, he couldn't even follow the yellow aura arrow. After ranking up, his mind caught up… but his body lagged behind like dead weight. He could see death approaching in slow motion, yet still failed to dodge it.
"Now that I'm an Advanced Radiant Walker, my body should finally keep up."
He summoned Frozen Ender into his hand, the silver shaft chilling the air around his fingers. Then he lay back on the bed, exhaled slowly, and pulled his consciousness inward.
A tug.
A shift.
Then—
Darkness.
Raven opened his eyes to the familiar night-soaked street, the air thick with damp and dread. His silver spear glowed with a faint, pale aura, its edges wrapped in a soft, yellow shimmer.
Distant screams rose and fell like dying echoes. He steadied his breath.
"Here it comes."
He didn't move forward. Instead, he lifted his chin toward the blackened sky.
A whistle sliced through the darkness. Then a golden streak tore down from the heavens.
Raven activated Mind Eye.
The world slowed.
The arrow drifted down like a falling star.
A grin tugged at the corner of his lips.
He stepped, rotated, swept.
Clang!
Sparks burst from the collision, lighting his face in quick flashes. His arm throbbed from the recoil, but the arrow veered away.
"Damn. One arrow alone hits like a siege bolt."
Two more whistles screamed behind the first.
Raven snapped into motion, muscles humming. The spear blurred as he parried the first arrow—another punishing shock up his forearm. The second arrow bent unnaturally mid-flight, curving behind him.
He didn't fight it. He dipped his weight, letting it scorch through his sleeve instead of his ribs.
He straightened, eyes narrowing at the empty sky.
'Where's the archer?'
No figure. No silhouette. Nothing.
A horse's sharp neigh cut through the gloom.
Raven turned as a horse thundered toward him, kicking up dust. On its back—a blue-skinned humanoid holding a silver spear.
The same race as the one from his first illusion… yet not the same man. Something about the aura felt older. Sharper.
Raven tightened his grip, ready to meet the charge—
But the rider flickered.
His body dissolved like mist.
Only the galloping horse remained.
Mind Eye screamed a warning.
Behind you.
'No good—!'
A spear punched through his chest before he could turn. The sound was wet, sickening. Raven looked down at the hole blooming across his ribs. He turned his head just enough to see the blue humanoid standing several paces behind him, smirking under the murky sky.
"Hotep di Neter."
The world snapped apart.
Raven jolted awake with a sharp gasp. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
"Damn it."
He rubbed his chest out of instinct, even though there was no wound now.
"I didn't even feel him appear." Mind Eye caught him—but too late.
'I should've used Shadow Shift the second I sensed him.' He muttered and reached into his inventory.
The Phantom Compass settled into his palm.
'It's time to return to the Ruler's Throne Room… but first, the fragments.'
He set a notebook on the table, sat, and uncapped a silver pen.
"Cast the Words of Eternity."
Light shimmered, and an illusionary owl emerged from his amulet—Solis.
"Please write down the information about the object or person you seek, Master," Solis said, wings fluttering softly.
Raven wrote:
Fragment of Ice. One of the Fragments of the Ruler's Throne. Created by Paragon Wizard Merlin and his allies…
The moment the ink dried, the amulet flared with pale brilliance.
Raven's consciousness shifted into an enlightened haze.
His hand moved on its own, pen gliding across the blank page like guided by fate.
Minutes passed before the trance broke.
"Huh…?"
He blinked several times, vision clearing.
Then he saw the page.
Prophetic lines—neat, elegant, not written in his usual script—filled the sheet.
He read aloud quietly:
"In the shroud of a forgotten age,
frost stirs where winter never fades.
The slumbering shard drinks deep,
turning tides to dust and rivers to bone.
When the cold moon wails and the glass sea shatters,
the throne's shadow shall beckon the lost heir of ice.
Seek where the first snow never melts,
beneath the sky untouched by the sun."
Raven's brows furrowed.
"So… somewhere of extreme cold." That part was easy.
But the line that burrowed into him like a thorn was the second verse.
The slumbering shard drinks deep, turning tides to dust and rivers to bone…
His breath stilled.
'Famine. Drought. The second calamity.'
He remembered the dream world, the warnings, the devastation of drying rivers.
'Could… this calamity come from the shard awakening?'
The thought was absurd.
Unreasonable.
Terrifying.
He exhaled shakily. "I hope it's just a coincidence."
He flipped the notebook to a new page.