The Master of Blood Magic
I, Valter, had made two demands to stop the assassins.
One was to select a being who would obey my command even unto death.
The other was to free Jade from the underground dungeon.
Of course, it was all to crush the assassins by force.
The moment I brought up the matter to Jade after pulling him out from there,
Jade, who had roamed the world tirelessly even after my death, said this.
"My liege. Then, if I may boldly suggest, they are surely using Blood Magic."
"Blood Magic…."
I was inwardly shocked.
The reason I repeated those three words was simple.
Blood Magic was a unique magic that only I could use in my previous life.
It was a "patent" I had brought into the world by personally refining the demonic power of the Sword Ghost.
So it was laughable enough that they were using it,
but for demon bastards to be the ones wielding it?
"It must be surprising, and amusing as well. But its effects must have been quite effective. While you were away for 300 years, my liege, the Demon King took note of your power and made it his own elite guard's specialty."
"Ah, so the assassins close to his inner circle have a high chance of using Blood Magic too, then. …That coward's still got some tricks up his sleeve."
"It's more than suspicion. I've seen those assassin scum using Blood Magic with my own eyes, time and again. But it's all crude imitations. You needn't be overly wary."
It felt like just yesterday that I'd been helplessly overwhelmed by the magic I'd created to slaughter them, fleeing for my life with my tail between my legs.
But 300 years was apparently enough time for my enemies to coldly assess me and steal my techniques for their own.
That's why
I knew exactly how they'd ruin this festival with Blood Magic.
Because there was only one way.
Using Transfer Blood, the most basic of basics in Blood Magic, exploding a bunch of people was child's play.
Sure, there might be other ranged methods too,
but they all stemmed from Transfer Blood at their core.
So I easily figured out how to identify the bastards.
"Come to think of it, Jade, I don't think I asked, but you can use Blood Magic too, right?"
"Sword Ghost. From the moment you named me Blood Jade, my existence has been for that purpose."
And naturally, the Blood Apostles I'd fought alongside and forged could wield Blood Magic.
"Figures. I always figured you could. So you can sense the mana flow of those who use it too, then."
"Of course. They give off a similar sensation to us, but their flow is degraded and crude."
"Then stay hidden from sight and climb the bell tower overlooking the entire castle town. Identify everyone producing that kind of flow."
"And I shall signal you, my liege."
Thus, Jade, who had sworn to aid me,
truly hid in the bell tower and pinpointed their positions with precision.
And then.
Ziiing—!!
"…Resonance from the east. You really are the Blood Jade."
True to the name he was once called,
he informed me of the enemies' directions with the jade's wail, audible only to me.
I'd doubted at first if he was truly on my side,
but this proved Jade followed me faithfully.
And sure enough.
At the place I arrived,
"I can see traces of them trying to hide, but they can't fool this nose. That one's spiritual pressure is on another level entirely."
In the midst of the festival, disguised as my own appearance,
there was one brutal giant trying to slaughter an innocent child from behind to kick off the massacre.
Kwak—.
"—Who the hell are you?!"
So.
I, who showed no mercy, seized the sword he'd thrust backward.
"Who? The owner of the magic you were about to use."
Pak…!
Just like with Yeret, I slashed his wrist, wrenched it away,
and gripped the sword in my hand.
What I naturally saw on the sword was the fang tattoo.
The one etched on my hand when I took in the Sword Ghost,
and on all the Blood Apostles.
The moment I clenched it tight,
"…So this is it? No wonder they call it crude. It doesn't even reach my toes."
Despite never handling such a replica before,
I instinctively understood how to control its power.
Why?
Because Blood Magic was practically my own creation, after all.
Conclusions without insight and contemplation
are mere mimicry, and pathetically so.
To me, who had created something from nothing in the past, this was just a laughable attempt at imitation.
Then.
Whether he turned back or faced forward, his presence was impossible to conceal. This guy, who seemed like a heavy hitter even among the assassins,
"………!!"
the instant his identity was exposed to me,
tried to crush me like a bug, his expression unchanging.
Buwoong—!!
And what flew at me wasn't a weapon,
but claws honed to cruel sharpness.
As they hurtled toward me,
I instinctively shrank, knowing even one hit would end me.
Bones or whatever—anything in that arm's path would be sliced and pulverized beyond recognition.
However.
Hesitation had long been carved out of my mind.
Without a second thought, as always,
yes.
Just as I always fought as the Sword Ghost.
I decisively slashed my own wrist.
Pushashak—!!
Then.
My artery tore, and crimson blood surged around me.
The excruciating pain came with it, but I endured.
"Wha…?!"
The moment I did,
a flicker of bewilderment crossed the face of the bastard launching his emotionless, murderous assault.
The wave of gushing blood halted in midair, matching his panic.
Yes.
It literally froze in the air.
The momentum from my heart had all but vanished
thanks to my highly trained mana flow.
Ziiik—!
Soon, the dark red blood accelerated in an instant, boiling like lava,
and before his arm could reach me, it surged toward him.
Then.
The foul stench of proteins melting filled the air,
"Guh, guaaaaaah—!!!"
and the assassin, who looked desiccated to begin with, let out a grotesque scream he'd probably never uttered before.
"How's the taste of the Transfer Blood you were about to use? It doesn't need someone else's blood. Your own works just fine."
"Hot, ho-hot—!!"
"Well, unless you can control blood, it'd just be suicide the moment you tear your artery."
Finally.
I spun the sword a couple times to refine the mana flow,
and the blood that had boiled, melting his skin, rapidly cooled and returned to me at my command.
It burrowed back into the torn artery,
cauterizing the wound, sealing the bleed.
The assassin, now looking like he'd been tossed in a furnace, writhed in agony as even his eye lenses melted,
yet for a moment, his face twisted in what seemed like puzzlement.
No doubt wondering
how I knew to use Transfer Blood like this.
But I had an answer for that.
"I am the master of this magic. What I'm doing now is just collecting the usage fee."
"Captain…!"
And at some point,
amid the clever folk fleeing this bizarre scene,
one assassin couldn't bear seeing him suffer and rushed to rescue him.
Chwaaak—.
"U, aaaaaaah!!"
I roasted that one the same way.
This seemed like good intel after all.
"The first one I took out was the captain, huh. Talk about lucky."
Which meant he surely carried something to contact the other assassins.
Sure enough, rummaging his waist,
there was an outdated mana radio, the kind demon troops had been using for 300 years.
I pulled it out, tapped it a few times, and brought it to my mouth.
"Desert."
A passphrase like a code word came from the other end.
Whatever, I had no idea.
"…Now, prove your worth."
"Hoooot—!! Hot, aaaaaaah—."
I ignored the dead captain
and pressed the radio to the mouth of the roasting assassin nearby, letting all the listeners hear his screams.
Then I brought it to my own mouth
and shouted in a perfectly urgent voice.
"Operation failed—!! Everyone, retreat to the west gate!!"
After starting with such horrific screams of burning flesh,
if they suspected the one who snatched the radio was bluffing, I'd admit it.
And to
the clever folk around me, watching all this,
I gestured casually and said,
"Thanks for coming to enjoy the festival. I'm Valter, handling some territory trouble, so you folks just carry on without worry."
Calm as could be, more than anyone.