Jack knelt beside the stag’s corpse as the panting and excited hounds were held back from the kill. The warm, metallic scent of blood lingered in the clearing. He took a few moments to compose himself before moving away.

  Servants in House Tides’ livery approached with an aether-powered butchering rig. A thin line of spent aether-steam puffed from its side vents as the contraption came to a halt. A pair of men descended from its platform, already drawing blades. Skin split with long, clean cuts. Sinew and muscle were separated from bone with ritualistic efficiency before being stored in chilled compartments.

  As the deer was broken down, a brass trough was slid from the back of the rig. The entrails were dumped inside for the hounds, who yipped and howled in excitement. A few servants wrestled the more aggressive dogs into submission using polished stun-collars that sparked with contained aether charges. The dogs yelped in pain as they calmed down and waited for their masters’ permission to eat.

  Nearby, a young noble girl retched behind a tree. The older nobles laughed.

  Jack stood apart, the smell of blood clinging to his hands. His blade was already sheathed, but his pulse hadn’t settled. Behind him, the brass-mounted aether pipes along the butchering rig vented in soft clicks, matching the cadence of his heartbeat.

  Baron Greaves approached, his grin wolfish. “Tradition, my boy.” He dipped two fingers into the pooling blood on a slab of bark and smeared a long streak across Jack’s forehead.

  Jack’s stomach turned, and he wanted to recoil at the touch, but endured, forcing himself to remain still.

  A second streak followed, this one from Baroness Vampese, who daubed the blood across Jack’s cheek with a reverent expression. “One for the Fates,” she whispered, her gloves spotless despite the mess.

  “One for the bond,” added Baron Argil, marking Jack’s other cheek.

  The rite continued. Six nobles in total. Each smear of blood felt colder and heavier than the last. This wasn’t honour, it was branding.

  Jack forced a smile. He dipped his head like an obedient pup, but inside, he was seething. I hate all of you. It felt ceremonial and religious, but most of all, it felt wrong. Fuck! How the hell am I going to get out of this mess?

  The group of six younger nobles watched from a distance. One whispered something to another and received only a scowl in return. Jealousy simmered just below the surface, mingling with anger and disbelief.

  The commoners hung back further still. Jack caught Jasmin’s father, Alric, giving him a measured, wary look before turning away. None approached or congratulated him. Good. Keep your distance. You don’t want any part of this.

  Greaves clapped him on the back. “You’ve taken the first step, Jack. Most don’t even know the path exists.”

  Jack gave a neutral nod. “Thank you, my lord. It’s… a lot to take in.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  “A new world always is,” said Baroness Quill. Her voice was soft and dangerous.

  Throughout the day, they’d been guiding him on a new path. Jack understood that now. He wasn’t being embraced as a noble. No, this was something far more dangerous; they saw him as one of their kind. A blood mage. They believed he’d joined their secret circle, a blood cult hidden behind feasts and rituals.

  They believe my mind is broken. Jack had realised they’d been using a skill to prepare him for the blood mage class during the hunt. He’d felt it take hold, and for a moment they had him, but his hate for Greaves had cut through it like a dagger. Let them have their illusion. I’ll let them see what they want to see. He smiled. “I think I understand now,” he said. “You’re special… you’re the chosen ones.”

  In a way, he wasn’t lying. He could feel the connection. Weak, but present. Blood magic thrummed through a bond between them. He could sense them, and they, perhaps, could sense him.

  Baron Greaves’ eyes gleamed like an old wolf’s. “You’re quick. That’s good, my boy. Very good.” He squeezed Jack’s shoulder. “But you have one thing wrong.” He leaned close, his breath hot with wine. “We are the chosen; welcome to the fold, son.”

  Jack wanted to rip his throat out, but nodded and turned to where the stag’s head had been mounted on a raised stone. Two dogs fought over a chunk of discarded meat, snarling until one snapped its jaws around the mass and bounded away with a triumphant growl as the aether-rig vented behind them.

  ***

  Later, while the others drank and discussed the next leg of the hunt, Jack slipped away to the shadow of an oak and checked his classes and skills list.

  [Class Screen-Internal View]

  Class: Apprentice Scribe (31)

  Compatibility: 70%

  - Copy Text (4)

  - Translate Text (3)

  - Draughtsmanship (5)

  - Perfect Recall (4)

  - Create Cypher/Decipher (3)

  - Inscribe Spell (6)

  - Bind Book (2)

  Class: Novice Archer (0)

  Compatibility: 25%

  - True Aim (0)

  - Rapid Release (0)

  - Multi-Shot (0)

  Class: Novice Blood Mage (0)

  Compatibility: 83%

  - Compulsion (0)

  - Blood Bond (0)

  - Sense Blood Mage (0)

  - Harvest Pseudo Skills (0)

  -- Pseudo Warrior: First Strike (0)

  -- Pseudo Goblin: Enrage (0)

  -- Pseudo Rogue: Detect Trap (0)

  -- Pseudo Warrior: Greatsword Slice (0)

  Despite already knowing… it still made his stomach lurch.

  How?

  Blood Mage was a class he didn’t choose and didn’t want.

  “Shit,” he whispered. “The Inquisition.” If the Inquisitors discovered him, he’d be dragged into a pit and burned. No trial or final words.

  “How?” he muttered. I didn’t touch a Choosing Stone and haven’t levelled archery to twenty-five.

  It made no sense. Classes didn’t appear out of nowhere. To gain a class, one had to first meet certain requirements. Jack had met the conditions for blood mage, but to select the class required choosing it after touching a Choosing Stone.

  “This isn’t possible,” he whispered. He rubbed his eyes and blinked. Still there; level zero. Blood Mage.

  He concentrated on each of the new skills to get a feeling for them. His eyes widened at the first skill. That’s how they almost controlled me. Fuck, they used Compulsion on me.

  Compulsion, did as the name suggested. It pushed the target towards a desired outcome. What’s more, it could be used by a group of blood mages. In Jack’s case, they’d been pushing him towards making choices that resulted in him becoming a blood mage, and for him to see the six nobles as trusted friends.

  “Bastards,” Jack whispered as he moved on to the next skill.

  Blood Bond allowed two or more blood mages to bond, thereby strengthening their magic. He could feel the perfect number in a bond was twelve mages.

  He shook his head. I’ll never use that skill.

  Sense Blood Mage was a weak sense that allowed blood mages to sense one another at close distances.

  Shit. That’s a problem; any blood mage can detect me if they’re close enough.

  It was an active skill, so if he walked by a blood mage in the street, he’d be fine, unless they activated the skill, and then they’d know Jack was a fellow blood mage.