Chapter 10: The Blood Sword's Curse and the Rising Heir
Scene 1: The Northern Border – Fortress of the Arkaan Family
Lord Theod Arkaan stood atop the high stone walls of his ancestral fortress, his eyes scanning the misty horizon where the borders of the Naira and Wasco Empires met. The wind whipped through his graying hair, carrying the chill of impending conflict. For years, he had held this fort, a bastion against the constant tension between two empires on the brink of war. His face, weathered by battle and responsibility, was grim.
The sound of frantic footsteps broke his concentration. A knight, breathless and covered in dust, stumbled onto the ramparts, saluting hastily. "My Lord Theod! Urgent news from the capital!"
Theod turned, his advanced knight's aura unconsciously pressing down on the messenger. "Speak. Has the border situation worsened?"
The knight shook his head, still panting. "No, my Lord! It's about your son... Young Master Vicky!"
Theod's stern expression flickered. Vicky. The name brought a familiar pang of disappointment and concern. "What has that useless boy done now? Caused another scandal?"
The knight's eyes widened with excitement. "Quite the opposite, my Lord! He defeated Kael Lin in a public duel! And... the rumors say he did it without using any aura!"
For a long moment, Theod was silent. The wind seemed to still around him. His son, the one who had failed every combat test, who couldn't even sense mana properly, had defeated a Lin heir—a recognized Low-Level Knight? "Is this news reliable?" he finally asked, his voice low and measured.
"Absolutely, my Lord! Witnesses confirm it. They say the Young Master moved with incredible speed and skill. He didn't just win; he humiliated Kael Lin, warning him never to target Young Master Bazi again."
A complex emotion stirred in Theod's chest—disbelief, followed by a flicker of something he hadn't felt in years: hope. He looked back toward the troubled border. For decades, this pointless stalemate had drained the Arkaan family's resources and blood. Victory brought no glory, only more dead soldiers. If Vicky had truly changed... if he possessed such hidden talent...
"Perhaps..." Theod murmured to himself, "once this border dispute with Naira is resolved peacefully, I should return home. It seems my son might finally be worthy of the Arkaan name after all." A rare, determined smile touched his lips. "I'm coming home, son. Let's see what you're truly made of."
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Scene 2: The Depths of the Dungeon – The Blood Swarm
Back in the dungeon, Vicky and his knights stared in horror at the stone pedestal. The Blood-Drinker Blade was now pulsating with a dark crimson light. The pools of blood left by the slain leech and skeletons began to tremble, then bubble, coalescing into humanoid shapes.
"By the gods... what is this?" Gideon whispered, his sword shaking in his hand.
Before their eyes, the blood fully formed into monsters—scores of them. Most were hulking, brutish creatures with jagged teeth and claws—Normal Level monsters (Tier 2). But among them moved taller, more intelligent-looking beasts with glowing red eyes—Elite Level monsters (Tier 3). There were hundreds, maybe thousands, filling the vast chamber. The air grew thick with the smell of iron and rot.
"We're doomed," a young knight named Leo stammered, backing away. "There's no way out! We can't fight so many!"
The knights looked to Vicky, their faces pale with terror. They had trusted him, but this seemed like certain death.
Vicky's mind raced. "Don't panic! Form a defensive circle! Spears and shields outward! Archers, if you have any mana bolts left, prepare to fire on my command!" His voice, though young, held an undeniable authority that cut through their fear.
"Vicky!" Reman's voice was urgent in his mind. "These are blood phantoms, conjured by the sword's cursed energy! They are drawn to the blood spilled here. Fighting them head-on is suicide; for every one you kill, the spilled blood may strengthen the others!"
Then what do we do? Vicky thought desperately, his knuckles white on his own sword. There has to be a way!
"There is one chance, but it is extremely dangerous," Reman said, his tone grave. "The sword is the source. It is feeding on the blood and creating these phantoms. If you can master the sword—if you can claim it and suppress its bloodlust—the phantoms may dissipate. But the sword's curse is powerful. It will try to corrupt you, to drain your own life force. Few have ever resisted it."
Vicky didn't hesitate. It was the only way to save his men. "Gideon! Hold the line! Buy me time, no matter the cost!"
"What are you going to do, Young Master?" Gideon yelled over the growing screeches of the phantoms.
"I'm going to end this at the source!" Vicky shouted, turning and sprinting back towards the pedestal where the dark blade throbbed like an evil heart.
A Tier 3 Elite Phantom, a hulking beast with blades for arms, lunged at him. Vicky ducked under its swing, his Iron Blood Art flaring. "You're in my way!" he roared, delivering a powerful kick that shattered the creature's leg, but instead of blood, it splattered into a dark mist, only to slowly reform nearby.
He was getting closer. The sword's malevolent presence pressed down on him, whispering promises of power and threats of oblivion. More phantoms converged on him. He saw two of his knights, Mark and Rylan, bravely step in to intercept, but they were quickly overwhelmed and pulled down by the swarm. Their screams were cut short.
"NO!" Vicky cried out, anger and grief fueling him. He pushed forward, his body moving on instinct, shattering phantom after phantom with brutal efficiency. He was a blur of motion, every strike fueled by the desperate need to save those who remained.
Finally, he reached the pedestal. The Blood-Drinker Blade seemed to pulse in anticipation.
"Now, Vicky!" Reman commanded. "Grab the hilt! You must overwhelm its will with your own! Show no fear! Show no doubt!"
With a final, defiant shout, Vicky's hand closed around the cold, serrated hilt.
Agony. Pure, icy agony shot up his arm, followed by a torrent of violent images—ancient battles, rivers of blood, demonic laughter. The sword's curse attacked his mind, trying to break him, to make him its next vessel.
I... will... not... fall! Vicky thought, gritting his teeth. He focused on the faces of his father, his brother Bazi, his loyal knights. He focused on his promise to restore his family's honor. A brilliant silver light—the pure, unyielding will of his Mid-Level Knight aura—erupted from his body, clashing with the sword's crimson energy.
The entire chamber shook. The phantoms shrieked as their forms began to flicker and dissolve into mist. The blood on the floor evaporated.
After what felt like an eternity, the darkness receded. The sword in Vicky's hand was still, its dark sheen now subdued. The chamber was silent, save for the heavy breathing of the exhausted survivors.
Gideon limped over, his armor dented and stained. "Young Master... you did it."
Vicky slumped to his knees, drained but victorious. He looked at the sword, now a tool rather than a master. "We did it, Gideon. Together."
"You have passed a great trial, Vicky," Reman said, his voice filled with pride. "But remember, this weapon is a double-edged sword. Wield it with caution."
As they helped their wounded and made their way out of the dungeon, Vicky knew the challenges were only getting greater. But with this victory, and his father potentially returning, a new chapter for the Arkaan family was about to begin.
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