Chapter 73: Blood in the Archives

Chapter 73: Chapter 73: Blood in the Archives

"Blood is a very special juice." — Goethe, Faust

•••

At noon, sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the grand archives, lighting up four levels of bookshelves filled with chained volumes.

Sybill had come alone without telling anyone. After all, she only expected to spend twenty minutes there.

The oldest page of Malakor’s cipher had quoted a document written long before the academy existed.

According to the catalogue, the original was kept in the restricted section, case nine, on the third tier.

It contained an eyewitness account of the Fall.

Sybill signed the register, collected a pair of white gloves, and began searching quietly.

Then she noticed a familiar smell.

Old iron.

"Forgive the interruption."

Professor Vane appeared between the shelves, speaking in his usual gentle voice.

His smile appeared half a second before his words.

"The restricted section doesn’t allow students to wander around alone."

He took a small breath, almost as if he were examining the air.

"Unsealing magic," he said. "Anchored hexes. Slow, careful work that takes hours."

His smile remained unchanged.

"That special wax remembers whoever touches it. And nine years of someone’s precious research would certainly remember your fingers."

Sybill slowly set down the book.

She didn’t run.

Running from a Blood-Alchemist was an excellent way to get drained of blood.

"I’m only here for reference," she replied calmly. "No books can leave without a faculty seal."

"I have a seal."

"Yours has a black sun surrounded by teeth. Unfortunately, the archives only accept academy seals."

Vane’s smile remained in place.

He reached into his coat and removed a small vial no bigger than his thumb.

Then he pulled out the cork.

TSSS!

Crimson liquid rose from his sleeve, twisting into thin, living threads.

A moment later, more threads began emerging.

Back in Hall Nine, Joel was waiting for his kettle to boil when Nyx suddenly emerged from the reclamation pipes.

"Architect. He’s changed his route."

Joel turned toward her.

"Where?"

"The archives."

Nyx paused, her crown pulsing.

"The quiet one is there."

Joel immediately headed for the door.

He didn’t even wait for the kettle.

By the time he crossed the academy courtyard, the noon bell had begun ringing.

BOM!

Twelve strokes echoed across the grounds.

And Joel used every second of them.

[Ding!]

[Skill activated: ’Phantom Tread’ (E) - Lv. 2.]

[Surface noise reduced by ninety percent. Footfall pressure spread across the full sole. Duration: 2 hours.]

[Note: the bells are not muffled. Nothing is muffled. Only you.]

Joel crossed the courtyard. He slipped into the archives so quietly.

Three rows deep, beneath the dim lamps, Vane was questioning Sybill with the slow, careful patience of a surgeon preparing to cut.

•••

"Where is the folio?" Gideon asked. "Who has read it? Give me their names, in the order they touched it."

"Cataloguing takes weeks," Sybill replied. "You should ask the reference desk."

She cast her strongest anchored hex on the nearest blood thread.

TSS!

The thread slowly came apart, but before her hex could finish working, two more appeared.

Gideon could control his blood faster than Sybill could destroy it.

A thin, razor-sharp thread suddenly sliced through her glove and cut her forearm.

A single drop of blood rose from the wound and traveled along the thread toward Gideon’s vial.

PLIP!

"An ounce of your blood," Gideon said calmly, "and I’ll stop asking."

"Ask the archivist," Sybill replied, keeping her voice steady.

The crimson threads spread across the alcove, forming a waist-high barrier with dangerously sharp edges.

Sybill knew she couldn’t hold him off much longer.

She stopped thinking about escaping and began memorizing everything about him, hoping the information would help whoever came next.

Then, suddenly, a reading table smashed into the blood threads.

KRAK!

Joel had approached without making a sound.

He swung the heavy oak table with all his strength, shattering it into pieces.

But before the broken wood even touched the floor, the blood threads had already moved around the wreckage.

Joel grabbed the nearest thread with both hands and tore it apart.

SHNK!

The thread split.

Then the liquid blood immediately joined together again.

Gideon calmly stepped aside, his spotless cuffs barely moving.

More blood threads shot forward from different angles, filling the alcove with deadly spikes.

Joel quickly moved between Gideon and Sybill.

One of the sharp threads struck his forearm.

But instead of injuring him, the impact was absorbed by his Class.

Just as it had absorbed countless attacks before.

[Ding!]

[Charge banked: 1. The Sovereign thanks the donor.]

A sharp splinter cut Joel’s knuckle, drawing a small drop of blood.

Before he could react, Gideon caught the blood with one of his threads and brought it to his tongue.

"Aegis," he said, sounding almost disappointed. "A rare vintage. Thank you for the sample."

Joel quickly realized the problem.

No matter how many blood threads he destroyed, Gideon could reform them almost instantly.

For every attack Joel blocked, two more came from different directions.

And while his Class could absorb the force of attacks aimed at him, it couldn’t protect Sybill from every strike.

Then he noticed a thin blood thread shooting straight toward her throat.

It was already too close.

There was no time to reach her.

Until now, Joel had survived by absorbing every attack that struck him.

But that power had never allowed him to stop someone else from getting hurt.

A part of him wanted to keep his new ability hidden.

Using it here would expose his greatest secret.

But Sybill was about to die, and that made the decision simple.

Joel opened his mouth.

"Domain."

WHUMM!

[Ding!]

[Pinnacle authority projected: Domain of the Inertia Sovereign.]

[Radius: 50 meters. All kinetic energy within the sphere is subject to the Sovereign’s ruling.]

[First combat use. Audience: one [Blood-Alchemist], one hex-caster, one moth.]

The blood threads froze in the middle of their attack. Even their hissing stopped.

The entire barrier of crimson threads hung motionless in the air.

The drop of Sybill’s blood stopped inside the neck of Gideon’s vial, unable to move any farther.

Broken pieces of the wooden table remained suspended around them.

Three rows away, a turning page froze halfway through its movement.

Even a moth hovering near a lamp stopped flapping its wings.

Outside, the noon bell finished ringing.

But none of its final strokes could be heard inside the archives.

Joel’s Domain had taken control of everything within fifty meters.

He calmly walked through the frozen blood threads, moving them aside as he passed.

Then he allowed only two people to speak.

Himself and Gideon.

Gideon tried to control the blood flowing through his threads, but nothing happened.

He flicked his cuff, attempting another attack.

The blood stopped barely an inch from his wrist.

"Kinetic," Gideon said, recognizing the power. "So you’re the student from the registry. We thought you were just a rumor with a Class schedule."

"I’m a schedule with a rumor," Joel replied. "And you’re already in my records twice, Professor. The chalk. The table."

"And your rates?"

"They’ve changed. You’re standing inside them."

Joel reached for the vial suspended in the air.

He took it, carefully replaced the cork, and slipped it into his pocket.

"Her deposit. I’ll be holding it for now."

Then he grabbed one of the frozen blood threads.

With a thought, he changed its momentum and sent it shooting toward Gideon at an incredible speed.

The thread stopped half an inch from the professor’s collar.

One small movement, and it could pierce his throat.

"That’s my name on your invoice," Joel said calmly.

"You’re letting me leave."

It wasn’t a question.

Gideon already understood what Joel intended.

"If I kill you, the Syndicate will send someone worse," Joel replied. "Keeping you alive is simply more expensive."

With another thought, he moved the suspended blood threads aside, opening a clear path through the aisle.

Gideon was free to leave, but only because Joel allowed it.

Gideon walked away, his cuffs still spotless and a sharp crimson thread hovering beside his collar.

He moved calmly, like a man leaving a meeting that had ended badly for everyone.

When he reached the edge of Joel’s fifty-meter Domain, he stopped.

"The Syndicate will want a new price."

"Tell them the house has already signed the agreement."

As Gideon crossed the boundary, Joel directed the blood thread downward.

THK!

The crimson thread pierced half an inch into the wooden floor, leaving a reminder of their encounter.

"Release," Joel said.

Instantly, everything began moving again.

The broken pieces of the table scattered across the floor.

The suspended page finished turning.

The moth flew away from the lamp.

And inside the sealed vial, the suspended drop of blood finally struck the glass.

PLIP!

•••

The sound of the breaking table had already reached the front desk.

Soon, eleven students and the archivist rushed toward the alcove.

They found crimson blood threads still hanging in the air, broken pieces of wood falling around them, and a first-year student standing with a vial in his pocket.

The archivist looked around.

"Shhh!"

Nobody listened, but at least she had tried.

Above them, Nyx moved along the bookshelves, clearly delighted.

"You stopped his blood, Architect."

"I stopped it from having opinions."

Sybill finally sat down on a nearby stool, her legs suddenly feeling weak.

"You exposed it," she said. "Your disguise. Rank fifty out of three thousand. Nine thousand merit points. You threw all that away for a simple errand."

"It was a good bargain," Joel replied.

He handed her the white gloves.

"The house only gives discounts once every decade. Don’t tell anyone."

"Joel."

It was the first time she had called him by name since the attack.

"He had my blood."

"He had one drop," Joel corrected. "And I’ve already taken it back."

He tapped the vial in his pocket.

"Roan’s lattice never warned us because Vane doesn’t use normal detection spells. He doesn’t cast anything that triggers the slates. He tastes blood instead."

"Cheaper than listening," Sybill muttered, remembering her own words.

"Next time you go somewhere, take Roan with you. We agreed nobody goes alone."

"It was supposed to be a twenty-minute errand."

"And Vane charges by the minute."

By supper, three different stories were spreading through the academy.

Some claimed two visiting professors had fought inside the archives.

Others insisted a demon had appeared among the bookshelves.

And the strangest rumor claimed a first-year student had stopped blood in midair using nothing but his mind.

Naturally, nobody believed the last story.

Even though eleven students and an archivist had witnessed it themselves.

[Ding!]

[Hidden objective completed: the accomplice roster holds. Casualties: none. Damage: one table, one glove, one bead (recovered, escrow).]

[Ding!]

[Trump card: spent. Publicly. Camouflage integrity: 9 percent and falling.]

[Recommendation: withdrawn. There is nothing left to recommend.]

That night in Hall Nine, Joel opened Vane’s file, crossed out the old entry, and wrote a new one beneath it.

The hunt is billable. Payment due immediately.

One day remained before the shipment.

Twelve units. One reservoir. No one left to deliver them.

And for the first time, everyone involved knew exactly who they were dealing with.