Oath

Rufeal meticulously changed his bed sheets, methodically cleansing his room of all traces of blood from his wounds. It was a painstaking task, yet necessary after the transformative ordeal he had endured.

His body had undergone a profound metamorphosis triggered by the substantial infusion of Aethrium from the orb. The influx of this potent substance acted as a catalyst, initiating a cellular regeneration process within him. Old cells, previously unaffected by Aethrium, were purged and replaced by new ones capable of harnessing its power. His heart, unable to withstand the strain of Aethrium, had ruptured, making way for a new organ capable of sustaining an Aethrium Heart.

As an Upiór, Rufeal possessed extraordinary healing capabilities, a fact that had ultimately ensured his survival. The academy had deemed him an “exception,” but Rafuel knew better. He wasn’t an anomaly in the realm of Aethrium; rather, he existed beyond the confines of human laws and regulations, a being to whom conventional rules did not fully apply.

“Now, then.” Rafuel muttered to himself, finally turning his attention to the glowing screen that had materialized upon his awakening.

| Profile:

| Name: ######

| Race: Upiór | Species: Neonate Vampire

| Root: Vampric Heart (Class: B) + Aethrium Heart (Class: T)

“Why is my name blurred?” he pondered aloud.

[That knowledge has been forbidden by Oriel, the Guardian Angel of Destiny.]

The disembodied voice reverberated around him, catching Rufeal off guard.

“Who are you?” he demanded, attempting to sense the presence of the unseen speaker but finding no physical form to grasp.

[I am a messenger of Oriel, created solely to ensure your survival. I possess no physical form, only a voice and the power bestowed upon me by the Guardian Angel of Destiny.]

“Survival…” Rufeal’s fists clenched, a flicker of rage glinting in his eyes as he grappled with existential questions. Whose voice had he heard on the brink of death? What memories had stirred within him during that fleeting moment of consciousness?

But for now, he pushed aside those tumultuous thoughts, taking a deep, calming breath. There were preparations to be made and tasks to be completed.

The foremost concern plaguing Rufeal's mind was the restoration of his fangs, a grim reminder of his vampiric nature and the insidious instincts they amplified. Under their influence, he had once lost control, resulting in the tragic slaughter of his entire village. Now, in the heart of the City of Sorcerers, Ebon Citadel, such an outburst would undoubtedly lead to his demise.

Driven by the desperate need to regain control, Rufeal set out from Arcane Haven, the dormitory of the Ebon Institute of Sorcerers. With extensive knowledge of the cities within the Ebon Citadel, he sought refuge in Thornfield Hills—a vast expanse of land owned by the Thornfield family, primarily utilized for the cultivation of crops. Its remote location and sparsely populated surroundings offered the perfect sanctuary to conceal the aftermath of his inevitable struggle to break his fangs.

Boarding a carriage, Rufeal set the destination for Thornfield Hills, his heart pounding with a tumult of fear and determination. As the carriage rattled along the cobblestone streets, his senses sharpened to a razor’s edge. The overpowering scent of humanity assaulted his nostrils, each breath a tantalizing temptation that threatened to unravel his fragile restraint. With every beat of his heart, the primal urge to succumb to his vampiric instincts grew stronger, his mouth watering at the mere thought of their succulent blood.

Clutching his chest in a futile attempt to quell the rising tide of hunger, Rufeal fought to maintain control as the journey stretched on. Five agonizing hours later, the carriage came to a halt, and Rufeal disembarked, his body trembling with the effort of suppressing his monstrous desires.

With a determined stride, he navigated through the farmlands, his senses on high alert for any sign of human presence. Ignoring the allure of the nearby residences, he plunged into the dense foliage of the surrounding woods, seeking solace in the isolation of nature.

Deeper and deeper he ventured, each step a struggle against the overwhelming thirst that threatened to consume him. Only when he was certain of his solitude did he allow himself to collapse to his knees.

As his senses sharpened, Rufeal detected a powerful presence nearby. Slowly emerging from the woods at a distance stood a figure, his commanding aura undeniable.

“I saw a child running desperately here in the middle of the night,” the figure spoke, his voice resonating with authority. “Tell me, child, what are you running from?”

But Rufeal didn’t hear the words; he couldn’t hear them. His senses were overtaken by his instincts, his mind consumed by the overwhelming desire for blood. The only thought in his mind was the crimson elixir pulsing through the veins of the man standing before him.

“My name is Thirben Thornfield, Arch Sorcerer of Ebon Citadel and the guardian of this hill,” the figure continued, his emerald eyes piercing the darkness. His striking green eyes seemed to glow with an otherworldly brilliance, contrasting sharply against his jet-black hair that cascaded in loose waves around his charming face. Adorned in flowing robes of green and black, the Arch Sorcerer cut a formidable figure, his ageless features belying his true age of 30.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Despite the sincerity in Thirben’s voice, Rufeal's predatory instincts took over. With a fierce determination, he launched himself toward Thirben, his fangs gleaming in the moonlight.

Thirben reacted swiftly, conjuring a shield of swirling tree branches from the surrounding trees to deflect Rufeal’s attack. Undeterred, Rufeal shifted his assault, darting through the shadows and launching himself at Thirben from different angles, each strike met with a barrier of impenetrable magic.

“You wear the academy’s uniform and appear human, but what are you?” Thirben questioned, his gaze never leaving Rufeal’s crimson eyes.

“Nature’s Confinement.” With a gesture of his hand, Thirben commanded the roots of the earth to ensnare Rufeal’s feet, halting his relentless advance. The roots sharpened and penetrated Rufeal’s limbs causing them to bleed all over. But Rufeal’s vampiric blood served as a potent venom, weakening the roots and allowing him to break free with a burst of supernatural strength.

Thirben watched in astonishment as Rufeal’s blood floated in the air, the crimson fluid swirling and multiplying with alarming speed.

“What is this?” Thirben exclaimed in disbelief, his green hair ruffling in the wind as he struggled to comprehend the unfolding chaos.

Before Thirben could react, a wave of blood surged toward him like a tsunami, threatening to engulf him in its crimson embrace. With a swift incantation, Thirben cast a holy spell of purification, vaporizing the blood with a blinding burst of divine energy.

But Rufeal was undeterred, conjuring more blood spells and charging toward Thirben with renewed ferocity. Thirben countered each attack with precision, his spells weaving a web of light and shadow in the moonlit clearing.

With a swift strike of his fangs, Rufeal tore into Thirben’s arm, consuming the blood within and leaving behind a trail of destruction. Bit by bit, Thirben began to succumb to Rufeal’s relentless assault, his once-imposing figure now marred by wounds inflicted by the vampire’s unholy power.

“God’s Judgment!” Thirben’s voice echoed with divine authority as he cast an immensely powerful holy spell, unleashing a blinding light that seared through the darkness.

The light of Thirben’s spell bathed the clearing in a radiant glow, melting away Rufeal’s flesh until only his bones remained. As the last remnants of his unholy presence faded, Thirben uttered a solemn prayer, hoping for divine mercy to guide Rufeal’s tormented soul.

Crackle! The skeleton rose, its frame burning with crimson fire. Thriben’s eyes dilated in surprise. “Ha,” he sighed, “Guess I have no choice.” He prepared to unleash the full extent of his power. “Purification-” But before he could cast the spell again, the skeleton spoke. “Wait.”

One positive effect of the holy spell was that it caused Rufeal to regain his senses. “If you cast that spell again, I will die,” he said as his skeleton started to generate flesh.

“You can speak,” Thriben remarked, startled by Rufeal’s sudden communication.

“I… I looked back on our fight,” Rufeal’s flesh completely recovered. “I can feel overwhelming power within you. You could have erased this entire hill and me with it. You could have used much more powerful spells. But you did not.”

Thriben flinched, his expression betraying a mix of surprise and contemplation.

“I think I know why,” Rufeal continued. “You care for the people present in this hill. You care for this forest. That’s why you tried to keep the damage to a minimum. You endured such wounds to the point of losing your limb for those lowborn farmers. You are truly a good man.”

“To think I would someday hear that from a monster disguised as a human,” Thriben retaliated, his tone tinged with skepticism.

"A monster. Yes, I am. You're aware my blood is venomous, aren't you?" With his teeth, he created a small wound on his wrist, letting the blood drip down his fingertip to the ground. "I can contaminate this soil; it has the potential to extinguish all life present here, slowly spreading like poison."

“You think I cannot stop that?” Thriben challenged, his voice carrying a hint of defiance.

“I know who you are, Thirben Thornfield,” Rufeal continued. “The prodigal Arch Sorcerer of the Thornfield family, blessed by the Goddess of Nature, Gaia. You gave up your inheritance and nobility to serve the people and the Goddess.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “Even if I contaminated this land, the Thornfield family would dedicate tremendous resources to save it as it is a source of crops and herbs. But will they dedicate a dime to save those farmers? They can easily be replaced, so why would they?”

“Do you not have an ounce of morality within you?” Thriben’s calm demeanor cracked, revealing a hint of rage. “To use the lives of those innocents?”

“My blood has been soaked into this land since our battle. Only I can stop it,” Rufeal threatened. “Don’t misunderstand. I didn’t come here to cause harm; I only came here to destroy the fangs that make me a monster. Your spell has already destroyed those. Without those fangs, I am only a normal human, and I wish to live as one. So, let me go, and I promise to never harm anyone.”

“And I am supposed to look the other way, pretending I saw nothing, based on your promise?” Thriben showed no sign of belief.

“Look to the ground,” Rufeal instructed. Thriben then noticed something; numerous flowers had started to blossom around them.

The flowers that bloomed around Rufeal and Thriben were a sight to behold even in the darkest of nights. Each delicate bloom seemed to shimmer with an ethereal glow, their petals radiating hues of soft lavender, pale pink, and deep indigo. Their slender stems stood tall and proud, adorned with leaves that glistened like silver under the moonlight.

As Thriben gazed upon them, he noticed intricate patterns etched into the petals, resembling delicate lacework woven by the hands of a master craftsman. Each flower exuded a subtle, sweet fragrance that hung in the air like a gentle caress, soothing the senses and calming the tumultuous emotions that had gripped the hill moments before.

Despite the darkness that surrounded them, the flowers seemed to emit their own soft luminescence, casting a gentle glow that illuminated the ground beneath them. Tiny droplets of dew clung to their petals, catching the moonlight and sparkling like precious gems scattered across a velvet tapestry.

Thriben couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty of these otherworldly blooms, their presence a stark contrast to the chaos and destruction that had unfolded mere moments ago. In their delicate intricacy and radiant splendor, he found a glimmer of hope, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, beauty and goodness could still flourish and thrive.

"Ever since you first injured me, my blood had begun to contaminate this land," Rufeal explained. "But now, when my blood touches the ground, it not only mutates the previous venomous blood but transforms it into an elixir. Even in the depths of darkness, shimmers of light can be found. Trust me, I do not wish to harm anyone."

This time, Thriben was taken aback by Rufeal’s earnest plea.