A/N - Thank you, Lucas Jakobsen, & Edmund Dillon, for becoming God of Velmoryn's Patrons!
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I scanned the tribe quickly, tracing the divine ripple back to its source while already thinking of ways to contain the fallout. Whoever had triggered it wasn't just strong, they had to understand how divine power worked, how to wield it without permission, and how to survive it. That wasn't something a normal Velmoryn could do.
But then I saw him, and everything got even more confusing.
A young boy stood at the center of a shallow crater, smoke curling faintly from the scattered wood and straw around him, the remains of what must've been his home. His frame was thin, barely past childhood, and yet he stood upright in the debris with a faint, dark crimson aura clinging to him like smoke. Part of it was unmistakably mine. But only part. The rest felt different, tainted with raw mana and unrefined life force. Whatever he'd tapped into, it wasn't divine. Not completely.
I don't get it…
There hadn't been any blessing. I hadn't granted him anything. The only Velmoryn I'd ever allowed to channel my power was Tekla, and she was still in the temple when this happened, running now toward the crater, but too far to have played any part in it.
"Dirion, what happened?" a woman's voice cut through the tension. Calm. Controlled. She walked to the boy, examining him without panic, her hands moving carefully as she checked for injuries.
"I don't know, Mother. I finished absorbing the essence High Father gave us and then… I felt strange." Dirion sounded confused, glancing down at the faint scar on his arm where the essence had clearly been.
The essence? That little fragment barely held enough divine power to lift someone to Bronze rank, and even that was a stretch.
Suddenly, the boy turned, hugging his mother, like he was trying to comfort her. She embraced him back without hesitation, her expression barely shifting. That was when I really noticed how much the Dark Magic had eroded their emotional range. There should've been panic. Tears. Relief. Something. Instead, there was… composure. Too much of it.
"How do you feel now?" she asked after a pause, easing him back by the shoulders. "Any changes?"
Dirion tilted his head, thinking. "I think… I can communicate with beasts."
That got my attention. I was already preparing to pull up his status window, but now I felt the urge to skip the slow divine examination. Whatever just happened wasn't a random surge, and I was hoping I could find the answer in Dirion's status window.
╔═════❖" STATUS WINDOW "❖═════╗
[ GENERAL INFORMATION ]
• Name: Dirion
• Rank: Silver
• Race: Velmoryn
• Age: 78
• Status: Normal
• God: Verde
• Title: None
• Class: Blood-Ritualist
[ ATTRIBUTES ]
✦ Physical Traits ✦
➤ Strength: 9
➤ Dexterity: 11
➤ Agility: 10
➤ Constitution: 8
➤ Endurance: 10
➤ Fortitude: 11
✦ Mental Traits ✦
➤ Intelligence: 14
➤ Wisdom: 16
➤ Perception: 10
➤ Insight: 21
➤ Willpower: 15
➤ Empathy: 25
✦ Magic Traits ✦
➤ Mana: 10
➤ Magic Power: 11
➤ Magic Control: 13
➤ Magic Resistance: 5
→ Total Attribute Points: 199
[ FAITH ]Devotion: 33 / 100
[ SKILLS ]
• Crimson Rite ── Unique
• Whispers of the Blood ── Basic
• Oath of the Blood Sigil ── Basic
• Bloodlink ── Unique
╚═══════⟡═══════⟡═══════╝
It sounded too ominous for someone who claimed he could "communicate with beasts", especially when he carried so much compassion in him - twenty-five points in empathy, higher than any Velmoryn I had seen so far.
[Class: Blood-Ritualist]
A wielder of ancient rites who forges pacts with living beasts through sacrifice. Each bond requires an offering - flesh, memory, or strength - given willingly to the creature. In return, the beast becomes permanently loyal, but imprints its nature upon the bearer, altering body and mind.
Power is not taken, but surrendered. The cost is permanent. The bond cannot be undone.
I had already come to understand that magic in this world was never just about channeling mana. It always carried a price. But in Dirion's case, it seemed like that price ran even deeper. Like every Velmoryn, he would suffer the toll of his chosen branch - just as dark magic dulled empathy, his would carry its own burden, but on top of that, bonding with beasts would demand an additional cost.
There was another risk as well. The beasts wouldn't simply serve him. Their nature would imprint onto him. The description was too vague to give me much clarity. Maybe it would be something harmless, like a Huanir's fondness for affection. But it could just as easily be something far more dangerous. Aggression. Instinct. Impulse. And no one had any control over what might shape him down the line.
For a moment, the hope I'd felt that I had accidentally stumbled upon something valuable dimmed. What had first looked like a potential immediate gain was starting to resemble a long-term investment or even a liability.
At least his stats aren't bad, especially for his age.And aside from that, he's already awakened three additional skills on top of Crimson Rite.
I glanced through them, surprised to find that every single one was passive. Two of them essentially circled the same idea. Whispers of the Blood allowed him to sense the emotional state of beasts and, with higher mastery, would eventually let him glimpse fragments of their thoughts. Bloodlink was more direct, allowing actual communication, but only with those creatures he had formed bonds with.
The one skill that stood out, the one that caught my attention more than the others, was Oath of the Blood Sigil.
[Oath of the Blood Sigil – Basic]
Through a mutual exchange of blood, willingly offered by both sides, a permanent pact may be established. The beast accepts the bond by taking a part of the bearer - health, attribute, memory, or emotion, offered as a sacrifice. In return, loyalty is sealed, and the beast imprints its nature upon the bearer. The nature and strength of the imprint depend on the creature's essence and will. The mark is permanent.
It's a passive skill. Mastery increases the number of bonds that may be sustained. Current limit: 2.
Oath of the Blood Sigil was, without question, the core of the Blood-Ritualist's path. If Dirion ever managed to bond with a powerful beast, and if the imprint it left on him turned out to be a strength rather than a weakness, then the skill might eventually become extremely useful. But that wasn't important right now.
The tribe didn't have any creatures for him to bond with, and the real reason I had even checked Dirion's status window in the first place was to figure out how the sudden surge of divine power happened. Dirion and his class had simply been a distraction along the way.
Maybe the essences I created carry a small chance to trigger a rank advancement, and Dirion was just lucky enough to be one of them.
It was the most reasonable explanation I could find, and now that I was certain this wasn't some hidden threat, I allowed myself to shift focus back to my original intention, as the main piece in my plan was already approaching.
Tekla was on her way toward the ruined house, walking with quick steps, her long white hair trailing behind her as the breeze caught it. There was worry on her face, but not because she feared something terrible had happened. She had felt the surge of divine power and recognized it as mine instantly. In her mind, it wasn't a question of someone else using it, it was her god acting directly. And if there was punishment involved, it meant she had failed her duty to guide the tribe properly.
She collided lightly with Lucas, who was returning from the scene, but she barely acknowledged him, quickly regaining her balance and continuing forward. However, his voice stopped her before she could go any further.
"Dirion received a blessing after consuming the essence He created," Lucas said simply, giving her a respectful nod before turning to leave.
Tekla didn't respond. Her face lit up almost instantly, the tension melting away as relief swept through her. Worry had turned to pride in a matter of seconds.
"High Father is generous and benevolent," she whispered, voice full of emotion, slamming her fist against her chest instead of placing it gently as usual. "Praise be to the…"
The sentence never reached its end. Her body stumbled as her knees gave out, and she collapsed to the ground, her mind already consumed by the vision I had just sent.
…
Tekla walked across the meadow, moving toward the Crimson Guardian that towered above the clearing. The tree stood alone on a small hill, its branches casting a wide shadow against the burning sun. As she stepped beneath the canopy, a soft breeze met her face, like guiding her gaze upward.
She followed it… and froze.
Roy's body emerged from the trunk, partially fused with it. His expression was calm, peaceful, untouched by pain or struggle. His head tilted slightly as his eyes found her, and the familiar warmth filled his face as he smiled.
Tekla tried to speak, but a branch lowered gently, brushing against her lips and silencing her before the words could form. It wasn't forceful. Just a quiet request to listen.
"High Father wishes to bestow His teachings to you," Roy spoke softly, the warmth never leaving his voice. "When you wake, you shall know."
He paused, his gaze holding steady as the smile deepened. "Tell Vivien I love her. And that I shall wait patiently for the day we reunite under High Father's grace."
As his words faded, crimson leaves began to fall, swirling around Tekla in slow, steady spirals. The red color swallowed everything, pressing down on her thoughts, dimming her senses. Her vision blurred under the weight of it, and as her mind grew heavy, the last fragments of awareness slipped away, pulling her into unconsciousness.
…
When Tekla opened her eyes, Lucas was already running toward her, with several other Velmoryns following close behind. Barely a few seconds had passed since she had collapsed, but for her, everything she had seen and felt had stretched across what felt like much longer - an entire vision packed into only a few heartbeats.
"Tekl… Priestess, are you well?" Lucas asked, crouching beside her. The others stopped short, keeping their distance. Even in their worry, none of them dared crowd her. She was their priestess, and even now, covered in dirt and still gathering herself, she carried too much grace for them to approach lightly.
Tekla nodded, a warm smile crossing her face, though her mind was still busy sorting through the remnants of what she had just experienced.
She pushed herself upright, ready to rise, but something heavy in her hands pulled her attention downward. The weight was cool against her skin, solid, unfamiliar. She shifted slightly, glancing to the side and finally seeing what she was holding, or rather what lay on her hands - two dark crimson tablets, their surfaces carved with inscribed text.
A soft gasp escaped her lips as her hands trembled, the gravity of what she held fully sinking in.
"High Father's teachings…" She whispered as she drew them closer, careful with every movement, though the weight was far greater than her delicate handling suggested. And then, slowly, she began to read.
I Am that I Am. None stand before Me. None speak after Me.
Strength is the mark I have set upon My chosen. Let the strong rise, and let the feeble serve their place beneath them. For weakness is a shadow that shall not endure.
Let not the hand of brother be lifted against brother, nor the blood of the tribe be poured upon the ground. For he who slays his kin breaks the order I have set.
Go forth, and bear My name as a blade before the nations. By word or by war, let My dominion be made known; let none stand who refuse My call.
Be fruitful in number. Let the womb not be barren, nor the seed be wasted. For those who deny life deny My command, and their names shall be weighed and found wanting.
Blessed are those who fall beneath spear and tooth while their hands yet grasp the weapon. Their souls I shall gather; their names I shall keep.
Cursed is the one who yields while breath remains. Better the broken body than the bowed head; better the grave than the chain.
The Hunt is My altar. Upon the slain beasts, your offerings ascend. Seek the great and the terrible; rend their flesh and draw forth their essence, that the tribe may rise.
Let no tradition, nor custom, nor voice of man stand against My word. What was, is dust. What I command, endures.
Do what must be done. Spare not for pity; falter not for doubt. All that strengthens the tribe is sanctified beneath My eye.
It was the scripture I had created, one designed to secure my authority completely, while also pushing the tribe toward something greater. I needed them to grow in number, but more than that, I needed to break them free from the small, stagnant life they had grown comfortable with.
By now, it was clear to me that the Velmoryns were a timid race. Proud of their bloodlines, proud of their traditions, but lacking any real ambition. For a race that lived as long as they did, their weakness made no sense. They should have become something far greater. Instead, they were scattered and fragile.
I wasn't going to allow that.
I would not tolerate six isolated tribes, or even two.
The first goal was already set. I would unite them. All of them.
And if some resisted... well, they would serve a different purpose.
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