B2 Chapter 242: Elder Blood

Sitting cross legged in the middle of his team’s dimensional tent, Kaius stared down at his blade.

Porkchop and Ianmus watched on in reverent silence as he swept his hand across its length, feeling the hunger with which its surface tore into the heat of his body.

A Father’s Gift, his most prized possession. A gift for reaching the age at which the system integrated with him fully. One that he now knew that his father had been preparing for for far longer than he had ever believed.

One that had revealed the true depths of his father’s secrets, and the hidden mysteries of their dynasty. Who would have believed that a gruff man living in the woods would have once been capable of crafting a mythical growth item?

Even with the obvious depth of their legacy, it had still caught him by surprise—had still made him dream of the lost years in which his father must have forged this piece.

Had the first designs been drawn when his unknown mother’s stomach had swelled? Earlier? Whenever it was, it must have been forged in the heart of Unterstern, because no object of such potential could have been created without the workshop and resources of an entrenched master.

Something his father had certainly lacked in the Arboreal Sea.

Twisting his right hand, he saw the sign emblazoned on his palm in the black of night. A cutting weapon of death, hanging like a bared threat from a burning sun. His sigil—mirrored in the fuller of his blade and glowing with the barest motes of light in the smoky crystal.

A link, like his sword was to his past.

His eyes graced its length reverently. The steel grey and charcoal black waves of alternating layered steel, sandwiched between an edge and centre of smoke grey crystal, the runes that blazed above his sigil, the filigreed cross guard and pommel, and the simple binding of woven leather over its grip.

It was a thing of beauty—but it was a weapon first. A tool to cut through his obstacles. Stalwart, unbreakable, but not an implement of brute strength.

For all of the supposed cracking brittleness of crystal, it bent like any sword—giving in to pressure, lest it snap. At its core, it was a weapon of control, speed, and intent.

One that demanded mastery of the body. A visceral hunger and fury chained to purpose—fuel to drive oneself beyond what was possible.

A dangerous tool, where lacking ability became as dangerous to the self as it did the enemy.

Deep within his core, Kaius felt a faint chime from one of his pillars. An aspect, crooning in delight as he drank in the sublime perfection of his oldest companion.

Corporus, making its presence known.

It was a weak resonance—just the barest hint of a restless slumber making itself known.

Kaius paid the moment no mind. He’d learned from Mentis and from his brother’s experiences in awakening this same pillar. Enlightenment could not be forced, and Corporus was felt in the body.

If his aspect demanded mastery, it would have it. There would be proving grounds aplenty in his future.

But not today.

This moment was for his blade. For the nourishment of a bond that would see him through to the very pinnacle.

Like him, A Father’s Gift dripped with potential. Hungered for growth. It had been with him since the start of his journey, and had witnessed every triumph and tribulation he had experienced.

Kaius intended to reward that loyal devotion with the rich fertiliser it needed to grow into an implement that cut the path towards his goal.

It was his sword. Designed from the outset to be bared in his hands.

No matter how slow the process was, he would gather the reagents it was worth, and nourish the potential that lay in its core. Even if he had to lay it down momentarily—to pick up a lesser blade when its current power fell lacking—he would search for the means to push it to new heights.

Its first step was all accounted for. First, the Elder Blood. Then, the wyvern bone. No matter what it took, he would serve it only the very best of offerings.

He vowed, whispered words that hung silently in the base of his chest. When the first step of his vengeance was at hand—when he retook his father’s blade—it would be his sword that spilled the blood of his enemies.

The tracker. The man with the scar on his face. He was only a small piece of the puzzle, but he would fall all the same. It was a start of a thread that needed to be followed.

A man of his strength would have had little to do with the planning. No, there were others in the Onyx Temple that had a hand in Father’s death.

Even they would not be the end of the road. There was the looming threat soaring above the clouds, unseen from below. Someone had paid them—directed them to their vile work. There was no doubt in his mind that they were the same people who had wrought destruction on his family. Had crippled his father, shattered his dynasty, and stolen his birthright.

It would be a long path. A bloody path. But with his blade, and his team, he would see it through to the end.

With every step, every skill, and every level, he drew closer to the strength he needed to finally begin his search. The need to hunt and rage pumped through his chest—surging through his veins as his body demanded he move. Demanded he fight bodily against the storm of emotion that raged through him.

He held himself still. The Veteran’s Edge had revealed his path to him, and it was not one that was slaved to the basal wishes of instinct.

Today, he took another step. As he would every day, until he stood at the peak. Until his desires were his own, unthreatened by the wishes of others. Until those that had clawed their way up with him, just as battered and bloody, stood with him and rejoiced.

His vengeance would come—he could have patience.

Blood called to blood, and it was only right that the essence of that very ichor would serve to temper his blade in preparation for the coming storm.

Placing the sigil on his palm against its twin on his blade, Kaius felt the spark that slumbered within. It was little more than a growing seed of power nestled within dead iron, but who knew what would come in the future.

He’d researched more, in the archives. The first step of a growth weapon was an awakening. One that was most vital for defining its path and growth in the future. He’d already fed it a core of molten life.

Now it was time for the vital fluid.

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Looking up, he met his team’s eyes. Feeling the weight of the moment—and in Porkchop’s case, his emotions directly—they gave him solemn nods.

Kaius returned the gesture, before his gaze drifted to the jar of Elder Blood that sat at his side. Held in alchemical glass, its presence was entirely sealed, preventing his blade from crying out in desire.

It looked like a glob of congealed blood the size of two of his fists. A dark cordovan, glistening wet in the soft lights that hung from the roof of the tent.

Taking the chill glass in hand, the reagent rolled in the glass—shimmering with a metallic sheen. He half expected it to leave streaks—to deform and flow like a liquid.

It didn’t. It straddled the line between phases—as much solid metal as it was thick liquid, shifting and changing without rhyme or reason.

Truesight showed him it’s description—refreshing his memory of his reward.

Elder Blood:

Unique – Tier I

Affinity – Blood, Metal