The Hematopoietic Injection and the Signature
The Hemomancy class continued on. Walter swept through the rows of students, his leaf-brown hair fluttering with every step.
"As you all know well by now, the greatest weakness of blood magic is that it consumes the caster's own blood."
His soft, honeyed voice carried a strange magic of its own, hooking every ear in the room.
"The power is undeniable, but the risk is steep. And so, over the years, blood magic has evolved in one of two directions: artificially inflating the volume of blood available, or wringing greater effects from smaller amounts. But—"
He raised the syringe in his hand with the tender care of a man handling a priceless treasure.
"That tide, my friends, is turning."
The Hematopoietic Injection.
It was a technique for artificially transplanting hematopoietic cells—the cells that manufacture the primary components of blood—into another person's body. Walter explained that while such transplants were already used in a variety of surgical procedures, this particular injection took things a step further: the hematopoietic cells were harvested from a monster called the Blood Slime, a creature capable of producing blood without end, and introduced directly into a human body.
"Now, where is blood made? Not in the heart, as you might assume—it's produced in the bone marrow, deep inside your bones. The marrow houses hematopoietic stem cells, which assemble the components of blood itself."
Walter raised his voice deliberately, as if driving a point home.
"The Blood Slime has no bones whatsoever—and yet it possesses these very same hematopoietic stem cells, the ones that manufacture blood. That is the crux of it. With this injection, you would be able to generate two to three times the blood of an ordinary person."
A murmur rippled through the classroom.
If it was true, the injection was extraordinarily effective. Not only could a practitioner cast blood magic two or three times as often as usual, but the risks of blood loss would diminish as well. Even more powerful blood magic would be within reach.
But still.
...This all sounds a little too good to be true.
Simon, wary of Walter as he was, rested his chin on his hand and brooded. Had he heard this from some random peddler on the street, he'd have dismissed it as snake oil without a second thought. But the man saying it was none other than a Kizen professor—the supreme authority in his field.
Just then, a hand shot up, flashing into the air.
"Jamie Victoria! Would the injection have any side effects?"
Not every student shared Simon's unease, of course. Walter answered with a kindly smile.
"You may experience some dizziness, or a tingling in your limbs, but nothing that would qualify as a serious side effect. It's quite similar in composition to the blood potions you all drink."
Another hand rose beside Jamie's.
"Scott Snyder! Human blood maintains a certain ratio in the body, doesn't it? If it suddenly doubled or tripled, wouldn't something go wrong?"
"Ah, you've misunderstood. Your blood doesn't stay at an elevated volume. As the name suggests, your hematopoietic function is enhanced—meaning your body gains the ability to rapidly replenish blood whenever it runs short."
In a sense, it was an effect that manufactured blood potions inside one's own body. There wasn't a single student in that Hemomancy class who could resist being tempted.
With every pair of shining eyes fixed on the syringe, Walter set it slowly back down.
"However, this is still an experimental technology. It is difficult to mass-produce—you could grind down a hundred Blood Slimes and perhaps yield a single dose. The supply is extremely limited. So for this lesson, I've decided to offer one student alone—the highest achiever in today's class—the opportunity to receive the injection."
Excited cries erupted from every corner of the room. The words one student only sent the class's interest soaring to new heights.
"Then let's move on to a simple practical exercise, shall we?"
The exercise was straightforward: cast Palpitation Surge, a curse of the blood-flow discipline, upon oneself, and practice sensing and regulating the rhythm of one's own heartbeat.
"A human's heart rate is never constant," Walter lectured. "Body temperature, emotion, stress—all of these exert their influence. But a first-rate blood mage can control even the beating of the heart itself, entirely at will."
The top performer of the lesson was Camibarez, blessed with the finest blood-related lineage in the academy. She demonstrated an absolute command of her heart rate—racing it up, slowing it down, all with effortless precision.
"Congrats!"
"Lucky you."
Meilin and the other students crowded around to congratulate her on the achievement, and Simon made his way over as well.
"Congrats, Cami."
"Oh, Simon! Thank you!"
Camibarez beamed. Simon hesitated a moment before speaking.
"Cami."
"Yes!"
"That injection, about getting it..."
He stopped mid-sentence and studied her face. Surrounded by well-wishers, she looked utterly, radiantly happy.
Simon knew perfectly well that he lacked any real grounds to tell her not to. Walter just seems suspicious. I've got a bad feeling about him. Against that, the opportunity meant far too much to a Hemomancy major like her. It was a thin reed to lean on.
"...Couldn't you reconsider? Just for now."
Even so, the words slipped out of him.
Camibarez blinked, wide-eyed.
"Wh-what? Why?"
"It's still untested technology, so there could be dangers..."
"That much is true, Camibarez."
Walter had materialized behind Simon without a sound. Simon spun around, face frozen in alarm. Did this man seriously delight in popping up out of nowhere to startle people?
"Human clinical trials have been completed, and it has been thoroughly verified—but you are quite right to be cautious when it comes to an Ursula vampire. I'd prefer to observe the outcomes a while longer before offering it to you. Would that be acceptable?"
"Yes, of course!"
Behind them, a few of the girls exchanged delighted, gooey-eyed looks.
"Professor Walter is just the best."
"So considerate!"
As the students buzzed among themselves, Walter added one more thing in a voice so low only Camibarez could hear it.
"That said, if you truly insist on receiving it right now... I suppose I couldn't very well stop you."
"......"
Camibarez's face clouded with indecision. She turned her head, looked at Simon, then faced Walter again and answered.
"It's fine. I'll get it next time."
"Very well. As you wish."
In the end, Walter had the injection administered to a female student named Sophie Santana, the next-highest scorer after Camibarez. After receiving the shot in her arm, she demonstrated her blood magic in front of everyone.
"Let's try it right away. To activate the Blood Slime's hematopoietic cells, you must tune your heartbeat to a very particular frequency—mimicking the pulse of a Blood Slime itself, and thereby making the conditions inside your body identical to its own."
Having just learned the art of controlling her heartbeat, Sophie performed the task with surprising deftness.
"Now, cast your blood magic, if you would."
"Yes, Professor."
She pressed her palms together and closed her eyes.
<Blood Frenzy>
FWOOOOOSH!
A fountain of blood began surging endlessly from the magic circle on her palms, wave after wave without any sign of stopping.
Her reaction was pure, unfiltered astonishment.
"P-Professor! I've never produced this much before!"
The other students gaped at the endless flood of crimson magic rising before them.
"Guess it really works, huh?"
"Whoa..."
Walter nodded with a gentle smile.
"Well done. A complete success."
Sophie drew her dark magic back in.
"Do try not to overexert yourself with it just yet. It will take some time for the Blood Slime's hematopoietic cells to fully adapt to their new host."
"Yes! Thank you so, so much!"
Sophie bowed her head again and again, her face glowing with joy, as envious stares bore into her from every direction.
Among them were Camibarez's. She clapped and offered her congratulations with genuine warmth, but it was plain that she, too, wanted that injection.
...Cami.
Watching her, Simon's thoughts grew tangled and heavy.
After Hemomancy class ended, Simon returned to the boys' dormitory early. Room 409 was quiet as ever that day—Dick had gone down to Rochest, and Kajan was sleeping under his blanket, just like always.
?
Then he noticed it: a crow was fussing about at the windowsill, pecking at the glass with its beak as if begging to be let in.
When Simon opened the window, the crow hopped inside and perched on his shoulder.
!
A letter was tied to its leg. To: Simon Polentia.
The moment he spotted his own name, Simon hurriedly untied the letter from the bird's leg—and the instant one leg was freed, the crow vanished out the open window without so much as a backward glance.
First time I've ever gotten mail like this.
Normally, letters were delivered to the dormitory administration first, and only then passed along to the student in question.
Simon checked the sender's name at once. Written there was an unfamiliar name: Wil Mueller.
W-who on earth...?
The recipient, at least, was unmistakably himself. Sitting down at his desk, Simon broke the seal of the envelope and carefully unfolded its contents.
"Ah!"
He saw a name he hadn't heard in a very, very long time.
Are you keeping well? My name is Metin.
Student Lethe—forgive me, I mean Her Holiness, the Saintess of the Stars—has reached out to me on your behalf. You asked her to examine the evidence obtained aboard the train, and she passed your request along to me directly.
I have enclosed copies of the evidence recovered from the train. Please review them at your discretion.
— Metin
A soft gasp escaped Simon. His shoulders trembled—he was that glad to hear from the man.
Metin!
The very inquisitor who had chased Simon relentlessly across the Holy Federation upon realizing he was a necromancer. The two of them had ended up on the same holy train when the Blood Sky Cult attacked, and after Simon saved Metin's life—then went on to save the train's passengers as well—the inquisitor's gaze toward him had changed entirely.
"You fought for the people of this land with your life on the line, despite being a necromancer. In the end, you saved hundreds of lives. The inquisitors, myself included, were worthless. I'll admit it: we were not even the match of a single necromancer. I abandon my interrogation of you."
Even now, he could recall Metin's voice from that day with perfect clarity. His spirits lifting, Simon read on eagerly, pulling the documents from the back of the envelope.
They were the classified files he had seized after bringing down the Blood Sky Cult's bishop aboard the holy train. Copies, yes—but if it ever came to light that Metin had sent such material to a necromancer of the Dark Alliance, the man's life would be in danger. Grateful for the risk he had taken, Simon pored over the papers slowly, carefully.
Directive orders of the Blood Sky Cult.
Page after page laid out every manner of sinister scheme designed to sow chaos across the world. Simon's expression hardened as he worked his way through them.
......
Then one detail snagged his eye—the signature line on the directives. Every single signature belonged to the same hand.
No way...!
At last, Simon understood the source of that nagging unease that had followed him for days. He shot to his feet and ran for the library with the letter in hand.
Gore, Gore...
Upon reaching the library, he hauled down every thick volume related to ancient tongues he could find and spread them open. They were filled with old languages no longer in use. Thanks to the etiquette lessons Richard had drilled into him, Simon was fairly well versed in the archaic expressions nobles favored—but the language of this signature resisted a clean translation at a glance. Even so, its sentence structure was familiar enough that he quickly found his footing, and piece by piece, book in hand, he began to decode it.
"Ha."
A long breath hissed out of him.
At last, everything that had been gnawing at him came loose and fell away, clean and clear.
Written in the ancient tongue, the signature on the Blood Sky Cult's directives read: