The surroundings had gone quiet, making the situation somewhat awkward for Zeke. He was still standing in midair, a whip hanging from each hand and a gaping wound in his side. Without quite knowing what to do, he just remained in that same position.

Mordred, for his part, had forsaken his spell the moment he heard his father's voice. The giant blood stain on the ground was all that remained of the fearsome weapon he had summoned a moment earlier.

Meanwhile, Tristan Bloodsword was curiously studying Zeke’s whips. His brows were slightly furrowed as he looked them up and down. “I’ve never seen that spell before — quite interesting. Such a flexible weapon could be very effective with proper training. A shame you missed out on engraving [Blood Compression]. You could have become quite the warrior.”

Zeke frowned. Tristan Bloodsword might be the foremost expert on Blood Magic on the continent, but Zeke still disliked how he looked down on his [Perfect Body Control]. Nobody, not even him, had the right to dismiss Maximilian’s Trinity Project like that.

“Maybe that is so, and maybe not — only time will tell,” he said. After the cryptic statement, both of his whips started to move. Like snakes, they started to crawl back into his hands, until a moment later, not even the tiniest wound remained. “I have my own means, Mr. Bloodsword. You would do well not to look down on my mentor’s ingenuity.”

Zeke had hoped to impress the patriarch a little with this demonstration. However, nothing had prepared him for the sight that greeted him. From his perch in midair, Zeke found a sea of incredulous faces looking back at him — dropped jaws and wide eyes. Even Tristan himself was barely any better. His ponderous expression had faded, and even his mouth had fallen open.

“H-H-How did…” Tristan caught himself a moment too late. With a cough, he restored his calm expression and began anew. “Indeed, it seems I spoke a bit prematurely. As you said, only time will tell.”

Zeke nodded. Somehow, he had made the atmosphere even worse with this display. The only people who seemed to be unaffected were Maya and Leo. The former was beaming up at him, a huge smile on her face. The latter also smirked when he caught Zeke’s gaze and gave him an exaggerated thumbs up.

Luckily, the patriarch also seemed to recognize the strange atmosphere. If he didn’t act fast, Zeke might be mobbed by a horde of hungry Blood Mages that all wanted answers.

“Anyway… that’s not why I came,” he said with a sideways glance toward his son. “A little birdy informed me of something interesting. Instead of letting our guests observe our sparring as I had ordered, my foolish children somehow managed to embroil them in consecutive battles. Do you two have anything to say about that?”

“Errm…” Mordred began, looking around for help. However, nobody would meet his eyes. “The truth is… Ezekiel wanted to fight. He was almost begging. As the host, I couldn’t turn him down, could I? Right, Ezekiel?”

Before he could even deny the ridiculous statement, Vanessa spoke up. “It was me, father. I pressed for the fights.”

“Ohh?” Tristan looked at his daughter with a raised brow. “You aren’t usually like this, Vanessa. What made you disregard my orders like that?”

Vanessa glanced at Zeke. “I thought this would be a good chance.”

“A chance for what?” her father inquired calmly.

“Our young Mages have grown arrogant during our stay at the front.” She swept her gaze over the people in question. “Luckily, we didn’t have any fatalities this time. But it has led to the rise of unhealthy egos.” She pointed at Philip. “This one didn’t even waste a second before provoking Ezekiel. I’m sure there was no doubt in his mind that he could go toe to toe with the champion of the empire. I figured this was a good chance to give them some perspective.”

Tristan nodded seriously at his daughter's words. He turned to the batch of True Mages next, a stern expression on his face. “It seems you still have a lot to learn. Arrogance has no place on the battlefield — it will only lead to death. Your own death, which is fine, but oftentimes it will also lead to the death of your comrades. I hope you all learned that lesson well. Remember, it’s not the kingdom of Valor, but the empire of Arkanheim which is the dominant power on the continent. It would be foolish of us to forget that.”

The group, who had initially still had a defiant look in their eyes, were now all staring at the ground in shame. Not a trace of arrogance remained on their expressions. Zeke had nothing but praise for this kind of tactic. He had feared Tristan Bloodsword would be a mindless brute, as his moniker suggested. It turned out his fears had been in vain.

Their little play might have been enough to fool the others, but Zeke had immediately realized what was going on. There was no way Vanessa and Mordred had acted on their own. He was absolutely certain that this entire situation had been engineered by the man in front of him. Even the short speech from Vanessa had most likely been scripted. The entire scene had been wrapped up too nicely for it to be natural.

Thinking this far, Zeke realized why Tristan had intervened when he had. The plan had most likely been for Mordred to win. This would have shown the young Mages the strength of their family. After they had been humbled earlier, this would have sent a good message. However, it had not gone as expected. Now that he thought about it, Mordred’s reaction was most likely not shock from being caught, but shame from being unable to win easily.

A glance at the pleased expression on Tristan's face confirmed his theory. It was the face of a man who had just pulled off a scheme. He had to be careful around the patriarch; he seemed far more clever than the rumors made him out to be…

Zeke’s train of thought was interrupted by somebody clearing his throat close by. Below him, a healer was looking up, a worried frown directed at the cut in his side. While out of combat, Zeke instinctively stopped the sensation of pain, leading to him almost forgetting about it. He dispelled his [Air steps] and landed next to the healer. However, the rough landing opened the cut further, causing Zeke to smile awkwardly.

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The man directed a disapproving look at him but still got to work. As a Grand Mage, he could heal a wound of this size without a problem. The combination of [Perfect Body Control] and [Perfect Spatial Awareness] gave Zeke the ability to monitor how the spell worked.

All around the cut, he observed how his cells were driven into action by the Life Mana, reproducing many times faster than even he could get them to do with his Blood Magic. Moments later, only smooth skin remained. There wasn’t even the tiniest scar where there had been an open wound just now. It was marvelous.

Zeke would have to study this phenomenon in detail. He might be able to find a way to exponentially increase his self-healing ability if he managed to understand the process behind it. However, this didn’t rank highly on the list of his research projects. It would probably be a while until he would find the time…

A shadow darkened his vision and Zeke found Tristan Bloodsword standing in front of him. Up close, the man seemed even larger. He was a full head taller than Zeke and had broad shoulders. He had the same kind of build as his father, Geralt, but was a little taller still. It was the appearance of a true knight.

“Will you join me for a walk?” Tristan offered. “There are a couple of people I would like for you to meet.”

Ezekiel nodded. He was just about to call out to his family when Tristan interrupted. “Your family will be fine here. I have arranged for a meal to be served. The place I’m taking you is a very private event — It’s not for them.”

Zeke hesitated for a moment. He didn’t like the idea of leaving his family alone. However, he realized that this was not a logical worry. If the Bloodsword family wanted to do them harm, there was nothing Zeke could do to stop them. Tristan alone was more than a match for his entire household. While lamenting his own weakness once again, Zeke agreed to the proposal.

Tristan led the way into the manor that bordered the wide training field. Zeke had noticed that most of the men didn’t sleep in the mansion but in one of the barracks that surrounded it. Compared to the spartan look of those buildings, the mansion had a rustic charm. There were no flashy decorations, no fineries or golden ornaments either. However, everything seemed to be designed with practical elegance in mind.

The doors and window frames were carved from solid wood. The floor was made from durable parquet and formed interlocking shapes. It all gave off the feeling of simple practicality. Zeke found it quite fitting for the image the Valorians clearly wanted to portray.

The only decorations he could find anywhere in the foyer were the pictures of what Zeke suspected to be Bloodsword knights. These were hung all along the walls. Zeke recognized some of their faces. There were a couple of Valorians that had managed to make their way into his Mind’s Library — Tristan first and foremost.

At the end of the hall, Zeke noticed a picture that was markedly different. Compared to the simple wooden frames and uniform positions, it stood out like a sore thumb. The picture had a frame made of solid gold and instead of the usual placement, it was hung in what looked like an altar. Zeke didn’t recognize the man that was depicted on it either. He looked a lot like Tristan but lacked the aura of strength and confidence.

Tristan noticed his gaze and came to a stop. He smiled and pointed at the picture Zeke had been looking at. “Do you recognize him?”

Zeke shook his head. “He looks like a Bloodsword, but I have not seen the face before.”

Tristan nodded, his eyes slightly glazing over. He seemed lost in thought. “…That’s the way of the world, I guess.” After a moment, he returned to the present, the smile back on his face. “It’s a picture of my father. The first Bloodsword…”

Tristan walked over, a fond expression on his face as he looked at the picture from up close. “Most people think it was my efforts that elevated the Bloodsword family. They say I reclaimed the fame for all Blood Mages in the Valor kingdom. But they are wrong. It was, in fact, my father that made it possible.”

Zeke walked up next to him, studying the man in the picture. Despite his red hair and eyes, the man looked plain. When compared to Tristan’s striking appearance, it was no wonder history didn’t treat his father well. One looked like a dashing hero, while the other would disappear in a crowd.

[https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/1063583644020654080/1151493115224543253/b8507fc3-8f8f-4c7d-86d8-6a9a0502ce77_1.png?width=900&height=450]

“Unlike most Blood Mages, my father never had much of an interest or talent for fighting. It was a shame, really. Ever since his youth, this led to him being looked down upon, especially by his siblings. They called him useless, called him a weakling, and so much more. Not once did his own family consider asking him what his interests were. He was much like your mentor, I think,” Tristan explained. “His true passion lay in Magical theory. Most of our spells, even the [Blood Sword], were invented by him. He is the true origin of our family’s name. It is often forgotten that our family is only a couple hundred years old.”

Zeke nodded. He had been aware that the Bloodsword family was one of the youngest powers on the continent.

“You saw them earlier… the young ones. They think we are comparable to the great families of the empire, with their thousands of years of history. However, it’s all a house of cards. Right now, the family has little more than me and my perfect affinity to prop them up. Were I to disappear, they would simply fall back into obscurity.”

This admission gave Zeke pause. If the patriarch was right, then his position as the first ranked on the empire’s most wanted list was deceptive at best. It was most likely influenced by his importance for the survival of his family. However, Zeke didn’t dare just come out and ask about his actual strength.

Tristan seemed to recognize the look in his eyes. “I’m no delicate flower. If you have something to ask, ask it.”

“Where would you rank yourself in terms of strength?” Zeke blurted out. He was too curious about this to mince his words.

The man smirked. “Now that’s a topic I enjoy discussing. However, I don’t have an answer ready. But I can tell you one thing with absolute certainty: I am not at the top.”

“What about the list?” Zeke asked.

“Fuck that list! It’s a poor indicator of strength,” Tristan said with a disgusted look in his eyes. “Me in first place and Lara in second? Don’t make me laugh. The only reason we are so highly ranked is because we hate the empire the most. I’ve met Arch Mages that could take us two-on-one. The four elders and five generals of the empire are all stronger than me as well. If I were to meet any one of them, I would have to run for my life.”

Zeke's mouth fell open. He had not expected Tristan to be this blunt. The man had freely admitted not to be on the same level as the four elders. The title referred to the four strongest Mages of each of the four great families. Victor Windtänzer was one of them. If not even Tristan could match them, then this painted a dire picture for the alliance...

“You should see your face,” Tristan said with a smirk. “I bet you are disappointed by the truth after hearing all those tales of scary Blood Mages in the empire.”

Zeke shook his head. “I wouldn’t say that. But the more I learn, the more I realize how strong my mentor truly was.”

Tristan’s face turned serious as he nodded. “From what I hear, Maximilian was a fine man. They say few could match him in combat, even fewer in academics, and none in character. It was an injustice to deprive the world of his light.”

“…” Zeke agreed silently. The memories of that day were painful to recall.

“Well…” Tristan said awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to bring the mood down like that. How about we move on? There are still people I would like for you to meet.”

With that, Tristan resumed their tour and Zeke silently followed. Moments later, they exited the manor through the back. The moment they stepped onto the patio several pairs of eyes snapped to him.

“Who is the kid? And why did you bring him here, Blood-whelp?” a deep, bestial voice demanded to know.