Chapter 17 - Registration Day
---
"Master Lysander, your father has returned. He is currently in the west wing study," the maid informed me, bowing slightly at the entrance of the library.
I blink up from the oversized tome I'd been pretending to read and sighed. "Of course he has. Right after I tried—and failed—to weaponize my blood into some kind of crimson chainsaw. Perfect timing."
The maid pretended she didn't hear that, because she had tact. Good woman.
---
Later that evening, I stood outside the large oaken door of my father's study, fists clenched and nerves jumping around like caffeinated squirrels. I knocked twice. A moment later, his voice—firm and level—called, "Enter."
The room still smelled like sandalwood and old paper. Same polished desk. Same towering bookshelves. Same unreadable expression on Baron Caspian's face.
I stepped forward. "I awakened."
His eyes narrowed. "Awakened to what?"
"Blood," I said, keeping my tone neutral. "Elemental affinity. It's blood."
He didn't blink. Didn't lean back. Didn't gasp in horror or throw a holy symbol at me. "Rare," he said simply. "Dangerous, if uncontrolled."
"I know," I replied. Then, after a beat: "I want to become an adventurer."
That got a reaction. Not shock, but something behind his eyes tightened. He set down his quill.
"Are you certain? You know the risk. People die out there. Painfully. Mutilated by monsters, or betrayed by comrades. Some are never found."
"Yes. I'm sure."
"Why?"
I hesitated, then shrugged. "I need to grow stronger. And sitting around this manor all day... it's not going to help."
My father stared at me for a long moment. Then he nodded. "Very well. I will not stop you."
---
The next morning, he handed me a heavy pouch that jingled like fate.
"Five thousand gold coins. Use them wisely."
In my mind, I did the math. One silver coin could feed a modest family of five for about a week. Five thousand silver coins would last them half a year comfortably. And here I was holding the equivalent in gold. Yeah. Definitely not a small amount.
I thanked him, tucked the pouch into my coat, and took one of the family chariots into the city.
---
The Adventurer's Guild was... exactly what I expected.
Big, noisy, smelled faintly of sweat, steel, and alcohol even in the morning. I approached the front desk.
"I'd like to register," I told the receptionist, a bored-looking woman with auburn hair and a ledger thicker than my torso.
"Name? Age? Element?"
"Lysander Caspian. Thirteen. Blood."
She raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. Instead, she handed me a form. I filled it out, paid one gold coin, and boom—registered.
Behind me, a group of loud men laughed.
"Hey, look at the rich kid. Did he lose a bet or something?"
"Maybe he thought he'd get a title like 'Blood Demon Prince of Nightfall' just by showing up."
I ignored them and kept walking. Because no, I wasn't going to do main character nonsense.
> Face-slapping bullies? No thanks.
Saving a random girl and gaining an overpowered harem? Hard pass.
Becoming some dark edgy god-king of death with a name like "Crimson Sovereign of Eternal Ashes?" Yeah. That sounds exhausting.
I just wanted to get stronger. Quietly.
---
I hit the markets next. Picked up rations, a travel cloak, a field medical kit, and a pair of durable boots.
Then I stopped at a magic tool vendor.
"How much for the dimensional ring? The one with twenty square meters?"
"That one? Two thousand gold coins."
Ouch. But worth it. I paid.
Now, technically, I had enough space to stash a house. Not that I had a house to stash, but it was comforting.
I thought briefly about stopping by a hospital to buy some blood packs.
Then I realized how fast they'd spoil, and how suspicious I'd look waltzing out of there with a crate full of human blood. Yeah, not today.
---
I arrived at the weapons shop just as the sun began to dip, casting long shadows across the cobbled streets. It was a humble place: wooden sign, faint smell of oiled steel, and racks upon racks of gleaming tools of destruction.
I stepped inside.
Time to choose a weapon.
---