VengefulBirch
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Chapters 86-87
🕑 Added 2025-08-14 17:02:47 +0000 UTCChapter 86
Jacob can’t believe his luck.
He sketches the diagrams for Ashen Grasp and Hellchain for the two Infernal Royal Guards, and he now holds twenty more Merits, which puts him at sixty‑three Merits.
It feels as if he never spent points in the Astral Library, and he also gains the help of an Elder, not just Elder Lioren, and a set of contacts for buying Skills on the Hidden Market.
The table stands under a cold lamplight, and the stone surface bears old ink scars. Neat stacks of astral copies cast a faint glow, making the fresh ink look wet. His quill bites the page with small rasping sounds, and the smell of iron gall hangs over the work like a low fog.
His shoulders ache because he hunches, yet he refuses to stop, and he flexes his fingers before he draws the following line.
The Hidden Market operates as a distinct type of Black Market. It is not only a place for illicit activities, but it also serves as a hub for politics. Sellers and buyers treat specific Skills as if an invisible council regulates them. Infernal Skills go to Infernals. Dragonkin Skills go to Dragonkin. Other races follow the same logic, and the habit grows out of old grudges that never die. Some Classes find favor with a given race, and people call it bad manners to sell Skill Crystals or Shards to another race in the open. Some kingdoms place embargoes on sales to rival kingdoms, and those embargoes break whenever a treasury runs dry because merchants love coin more than rules.
They still cannot move Skill Crystals, artifacts, armor, equipment, and consumables on public stalls, so they hide the trade behind doors and courtyards and coded letters that pass between guild clerks and old captains.
Some items are stolen from important people, and no one sane wants a trail of papers. People who buy those pieces ask for oaths, and they meet in bright parlors that look harmless, and they never say the true names of anything.
That is why the Hidden Market does not look like a market. No one sets up a seedy underground hall with heaps of Skill Crystals on velvet. The Market lives as a network of introductions between people who already know one another, and the web stretches across cities that never share borders. You pay for those introductions, and you rarely pay with coin. You pay with favors that carry teeth, and you pay with services that pull you deeper into the web. The same logic that guards the Astral Library applies here, because if coins alone opened doors, Royals and Nobles would buy every door. The Hidden Market, according to the old stories, took shape millennia ago so that the right Skills could reach the right hands regardless of birth, and the story says that nameless wardens still prune the web when greed grows too loud.
Some whisper that the Headmaster built the Hidden Market, and then they shut their mouths, because no one speaks openly about the man. The rumor moves like smoke. It smells like truth and lies at the same time, and no one tries to trap it.
Elder Karl watches Jacob, and he sees the boy’s hands ache from all the scribbling and all the notes and the clumsy grip of someone who barely learns to write. The quill leaves blots at the start of strokes because Jacob presses too hard, and the ink dries in a thin sheen that reflects the lamplight. The boy rubs the heel of his palm when the cramps spike, and then he leans back in with his jaw set.
He’s from a very humble background, Elder Karl reasons. There’s no way he’s a noble. Most likely, he’s got someone taking care of him, but later in life. Adolescence? Perhaps. Whoever trained him in Skills and Runic Notation must be a real monster. If that person sends him here like this, then either he plans to avenge Jacob if he dies, or he wants the kid to risk his life and die if he can’t manage. He wouldn’t be an anomaly among the weird, hidden experts of the world.
Outside Ytrial, this would sound like crazy talk, yet many students here carry secrets. Hidden masters take an interest, feel pity, or seek amusement, and they teach a child from an unknown, impoverished city, then place him on a larger board.
Elder Karl studies Jacob like a hawk while the boy sketches one diagram after another and supposedly fixes flaw after flaw in Ashen Grasp and Hellchain. He traces channels with a fingertip that never smears the ink, and he compares the curves to the old standards that line the shelves behind them. He does not know where the kid found this knowledge, yet the longer he stares at the lines and routes, the clearer it grows that this is the real thing. The structure holds. The corrections map to failure points he has seen in audits of failed castings, and the weighting of runes matches the demands of the effects.
Jacob Cloud did not lie to the two Infernal bodyguards.
*
“Lancelot, I think it’s better if I go alone to the South Wing. Would you mind just… I don’t know. Just go eat something. It’s on me, of course.”
Fatty stays quiet after the guard almost kills him. I do not think the guard would actually kill him, yet Lancelot does. He keeps his mouth shut, and he stares at the floor while he clutches one of the diagrams I made. Among the Skills I get for him, there is Golden Claw. Apparently, Fatty receives a Gold-based class called Golden Warrior. That comes from Golden Palm. Golden Claw fits him better because it sits closer to the Draconic aspect that his heritage suggests.
We will need to keep building Skills so that when he reaches the limit of his Class, he can evolve it into something better. His eyes keep drifting to the inked claws on the page as if the lines might jump into his hands, and I can tell he wants that future more than he wants dinner.
I walk alone through the Academy, and I start to feel nervous while I carry the papers. The South Wing stretches under a ceiling that shows constellations stitched in gold thread, and the flagstones shine because centuries of boots polish them. Quiet groups of students pass with the steady rhythm of a barracks at dusk, and ward crystals hum in the arches with a thin note that you only notice when you stop. I grip the papers harder because the edges bend if I relax, and the sound of my steps keeps a clipped cadence that refuses to slow.
I hope they’re reasonable people.
I reach the dorm wing, and the orange light of sunset blasts through the giant windows and paints the stone with slow fire. The glass shows waves of heat at the lower edges because the day still clings to the city. All of Ytrial carries spatial enchantments that stretch distance until a short walk becomes a small journey, and the echoes of voices fold and unfold like fabric when people turn corners.
“Human.” I see Skarak and Parek standing at the sides of the open dormitory door. “Done already?”
They look at each other, and they snicker at me. Their armor sits oiled and dark, and the horn shadows climb the lintel like black hooks.
It seems like they probably convinced each other that I’m a fraud or something while I was away.
“So, let’s see the notation. And then, how would you like to die after trying to trick an Infernal?” Parek says.
“We appreciate your guts. But we’ll still spill them, Cloud. Just so that you know.”
“Of course, of course.” I smile. “I do not presume to judge these for myself. Why don’t you guys take a look at it and tell me what you think?”
“Skarak, go first,” Parek says. “We shouldn’t take our eyes off the door both at once.”
“Can’t everyone enter the dormitory?” I ask, and I frown because I do not follow their caution.
“Yes, but no one says we can’t check them first,” Skarak replies. He takes the diagrams for Ashen Grasp, and he steps where the light catches the ink. The paper rustles like dry leaves, and the edges look clean because I trim them with a knife.
He frowns as soon as he looks at them.
“What kind of weird Runic Notation is this? I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Oh, this is… well, something kind of new. Don’t worry about it.”
Skarak lifts a sheet that shows forearm vein channels, and he raises an eyebrow. His gaze moves like a craftsman’s, and he taps at nodes on the paper.
“Parek,” Skarak says, and he turns to the other Royal Guard. “This looks legit. Look at the Blooming Rose channel. That’s… that’s where my mana always gets stuck. Look at the runes. He wants me to circulate the mana first through… The Medial Star Sky channel in my brain?”
“For a grasping Skill?” Parek frowns.
They both sound knowledgeable. Without the Grimoire, I would not understand a word. The Grimoire already flags this point, and I remember the line.
[Critical Flaw. Ashen Grasp is a Battlefield Control Skill. These Skills rely heavily on the tactical sense and the mind of the user. Circulating mana through the Blooming Rose channel without having first circulated it through the Medial Star Sky channel creates an imbalance in the Skill, which makes it much harder to control.]
“Well,” I clear my throat, and I try to explain without sounding like a fool. “I could infer that circulating mana through the Blooming Rose channel without having first circulated it through the Medial Star Sky channel would create an imbalance since… err, it’s, like, a Battlefield Control Skill? These Skills… huh… they like brain channels.”
They stare at me with a frown. The hall grows quiet because people nearby hear the word “Infernal” and decide to slow down.
Damn it, I didn’t sound too convincing.
You sounded drunk, Jacob Cloud. And I wish I could tear your soul apart to know what damn Skill makes you so knowledgeable.
Who said it’s a Skill? I smirk in my head.
The day you die a horrible death, Cloud, will always be a day too late in my books.
Love you too. I stop listening to King Baalrek, and I watch Skarak circulate mana in a new route. He sets the draw from the heart, as the diagram shows, and the ash builds faster on the forearm; the grip forms with less scatter. He summons an Ashen Grasp that looks denser than before, and he brings it up faster. The ash condenses into a palm that holds steady when he moves his hand, and faint dust eddies spin away from each finger.
He guides the spell around, and he stares at me in disbelief.
“Parek. Try yours.”
Skarak steps back to cover the doorway again, and Parek takes the sheets for Hellchain. He reads the notes with tight lips, and his eyes narrow at the loop that sends the flow through the calves.
“You want me to channel through my Rising Sun veins first, then back to my… calves? And then again through the Rising Sun veins?” Parek does not look convinced.
“Hellchain is a springing move. You want the chains to jump at your opponent, right? Which channels provide more... springiness? Wait, is that a word?”
I should really start reading more. I feel like an idiot.
“You… that… well…” Parek stutters. “That actually makes sense. Ok, Cloud. If this works…”
He does not finish, and he starts to circulate Mana. The chains appear again, and unlike the first time when they lie around in coils and sluggish loops, they now vibrate with power and surge up and down like waves that want to break. Metal clanks in a rhythm that feels alive, and the hot light licks the door frame until a thin scorch line shows on the threshold.
I can tell by eye that he pulls more force than before.
“My Skill just gained ten levels,” Parek says, and he turns to Skarak.
They nod at each other, and then Skarak speaks. He sounds like the older one or the stronger one, or at least the one with more authority. He squares his shoulders, and his voice carries the weight of a hall that expects order.
“Your service was invaluable to us. We introduce each other now, with our full names.”
“I am Skaraktskflek, son of Drazvulk, part of the Kharzthun lineage. I salute you and ask for your name, so that a friendship might be born between us.”
“I am Parekyfklaskik, son of Vorlzhek, part of the Thazruk lineage. I salute you myself, and ask for your name, so that a friendship might be born between us.”
The formula is, I salute you, Skaraktskflek, son of Drazvulk, part of the Kharzthun lineage, and Paerkyfklaskik, son of Vorlzhek, part of the Thazruk lineage. My name is Jacob Cloud, son of Lucas Cloud, of the Cloud and Valemont lineage. I am honored by your offer, and I humbly accept it. Then, you bow.
I repeat the formula and I bow. I keep my back straight and my eyes low because their rites value pride and respect, and I hold the bow long enough to show that I understand the gift.
They bow right after, and a brief hint of surprise crosses both faces. The horns tilt in a way that reads as approval in their culture, and their hands move to their chests with quick precision.
You just made allies with my people. They’d still kill you if they found out about your heritage. Well, MY heritage. But that’s a step in the right direction. Sadly, I don’t think there’ll EVER be anything you can do to let them NOT kill you once they find out about your Skills.
A shout erupts from inside the dorm, and a gigantic Infernal sprints out. He stands taller than Skarak and broader across the chest, and his boots shake the lintel dust.
“The Princess is having another attack!”
“Dammit!” Skarak swears, and a potion appears in his hand. The bottle shows a black seal that marks royal stock, and the liquid glows like banked coals.
An Interspatial Ring? Damn, they’re filthy rich.
They’re common among my people.
Filthy rich people, then.
“No, we already used a potion, Skarak. Her mana is going haywire. I fear that…” The Infernal has tears on his face. “She might be a cripple soon… Her heritage is too powerful for this pitiful era. That damn Baalrek, I wish the bastard were still alive. Finally, one person manages to learn his Core Skill and now… she might die for it without even being able to activate it fully.”
“Huh,” I clear my throat. “Wait, did you just say King Baalrek?”
Chapter 87
No, they said Fling... Abek. Probably a Minotaur’s name. Nothing to do with me.
“He’s a friend now,” Skarak says to the Infernal, who glares at me. “He has a lot of knowledge.”
“Well, about that. I might have a solution for whatever your Princess is suffering from.”
The gigantic Infernal moves before I can even brace. He lifts me off the floor, and he slams me into the wall so hard that all the air leaves my lungs. Stone grinds through my back, and spots swarm in my vision.
“Do not mock Her Highness,” the Infernal says. Tears run down his very red skin and leave clean tracks.
“I’m... not... mocking...” I force the words out one at a time.
“Eliskar, put him down,” Skarak says, and he lays a hand on the giant’s shoulder. “Cloud, do you know what you’re talking about? You think you can help the Princess?”
“Well, I happen to read a lot about this King Baalrek of yours. My master is sort of an expert on him. He is a terrible, rotten character, yet his ways and Skills are deceptively simple because he was a simple‑minded, petty character.”
All three Infernals nod when I say simple‑minded and petty.
I AM NOT...
Shut up. A Royal Infernal Princess might be about to be crippled because of your stupidity. Would you like to help someone in the Royal lineage or not?
I... I...
I hear King Baalrek hesitate and fall quiet.
Bring me to her. These children nowadays need their hands held at every step.
“If you bring me to her, I promise I will be able to help.”
They trade a look, and then they lift me and run through the doorway. The corridor blurs, and the torches smear into orange streaks. The floor pounds under their boots, and the dormitory air smells like oil and hot metal.
*
They drop me beside a wide bed. It is not one of the Academy bunks. The frame stands carved with infernal glyphs, and the mattress sits thick and soft with a quilt that drinks the lamplight.
I barely see the bed because a woman lies on it, passed out. She looks like the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life. My throat tightens when I take in the sheen of sweat that beads on her fully red skin and the fall of white hair across the pillow. Heat floods my face until I probably look like one of them. I pull my eyes to her breathing so that I do not stare where I should not.
“Princess Iskara’s Skill... we don’t know the name. She never told us. But it’s a Constitution Skill. What can you do, Cloud? Can you help her?”
You can. It is manageable. Thankfully, this child, this daughter of my people, is strong, Cloud. Unlike you, it makes sense that she would survive one of my trials. She looks like one of the best of my kind I have ever seen. Her talent is so pure. Tell them to back away. You need their mana away from you. Five meters away.
More Royal Guards crowd the room with weapons at their hips and potions at their belts. I cough because the request feels awkward.
“So, I need everyone to step five meters away from me and from her. The mana is going haywire in here. I need your signatures out of the process.”
“Is this serious? Are we letting this human touch Princess Iskara?” a guard I do not know growls through his teeth.
“He’s a friend,” Skarak says. “He seems to know a lot about our people.”
“A human?!” another spits the word as if it carries poison.
“The Princess’s condition has gone beyond what we can do,” Eliskar says. He looks like the head of the Royal Guard. “Human, if you do anything funny, I will do things to your soul that make Divine Torture sound like a walk in the park.”
“What’s Divine... you know what, nothing. Okay, I’ll start.”
King Baalrek, what do I do?
I need to know, Cloud, which Skill is wreaking havoc in her body. My senses do not reach her soul because her mana is too dense.
I trigger the Grimoire and I whistle under my breath.
[Running the Analysis]
Skill Found.]
[Lucifer’s Veins (Rainbow Skill)]
Dammit. She has Lucifer’s Veins. Does that sound familiar?
King Baalrek’s voice catches in my head. I do not know how that even happens, yet he sounds like he just inhaled his own spit.
She found THAT heritage? His voice trembles. Now I understand why it cripples her. She does not know how to control it. That was meant to be one of my most remote heritages. She found the Skill of our first progenitor. It appears once every five hundred thousand years.
Damn. It makes me jealous.
Whatever you used to peer into her soul tells me yours is not an Aetherium Skill, which I already suspect. Up to Aetherium, Skill cost scales with the Rank. You would burn your eyes and your soul every time you tried to activate an Aetherium Skill. You have a Rainbow Skill. Given your Class, you just confirmed which one. I regret that I cannot kill you anymore.
What?
The Princess, King Baalrek sighs. Save her, and I will become your master. This girl is meant to bring the Infernals back. She is the true heir. But she found the right Skill at the wrong moment. That she could absorb it without dying speaks of immense talent. Save her life, Cloud, and I will mostly stop trying to kill you. I will never reveal your Rainbow Skill. You will swear to me, on your soul and not on blood, that you will never speak of her Skill to anyone outside me and her.
Wow, you are really serious.
I swear, Jacob Cloud, that I shall not try to kill you, whether to favor my people or because I hate you or for any other reason. I shall refrain from attempting to murder you in any way. I still refuse to interfere with your death. I may point you toward things you need that will get you killed if you do not rise to the occasion. I will, however, be more benevolent and try not to point you at things that are impossible for you. Now that I know your Rainbow Skill, that cursed book, I shall tailor challenges to your abilities. I will be your master, and I shall guide you in following the Infernal path that you have chosen. I will guide you in our customs and our culture, our Skills and our laws. You will be treated like a true Infernal by me. I swear on my soul. May it shatter if I break this oath.
Okay, I mutter inside. I swear that I shall never speak of her Rainbow Skill without Princess... Iskara?
Yes.
I swear that I shall never speak about her Rainbow Skill without Princess Iskara’s consent, not to anyone outside you and her. I swear that I will try my best to save her life. I swear that I will try to save her life to the best of my abilities. I swear on my soul. May it shatter if I break this oath.
I take a long breath.
Okay, this is good, I think, and I keep the thought away from the Royal Infernal in my soul. Now King Baalrek knows about the Rainbow Skill. He does not want to kill me, not that much at least. And I get an actual master. This Princess must be very important to him, which makes sense if she has a Rainbow Skill.
I flex my hands and I wait.
Undress her, King Baalrek says.
Wait, what?
You heard me.
I cannot undress a princess. Are you out of your mind? These Royal Guards will kill me.
Tell them you need to inscribe blood diagrams on her body. Tell them you can use Hellblood.
Can I?
Anyone with Infernal heritage can.
Wait, I also need to reveal that I am an Infernal?
Cloud, her time runs out. She is not about to be crippled. She is about to die.
I fucking hate this so much.
“Guys,” I say to the Royal Guards. “I need to inscribe blood diagrams with Hellblood on her body to...”
Let the stagnating Mana that wreaks havoc in her body be released.
“Let the stagnating Mana that wreaks havoc in her body be released. But that means I need to undress the Princess.”
The room erupts as I expect.
“Okay, I am killing this bastard,” one says.
“Give the Princess another potion and then skin him alive.”
“Find some hounds and play a game with him.”
“SILENCE!” Eliskar thunders.
Every guard straightens.
“Do what you must.”
“Yes, I will. I am sorry about—”
“START, HUMAN!” Eliskar shouts, and I jump.
“Yes, yes.”
I turn to Princess Iskara and I work at the clasps with careful hands. I undress her because I have to, not because I want to. Her red skin looks soft and warm, and the heat that comes off her feels like a fever. My fingers brush her shoulder, and the skin yields under the lightest touch. I look away when I can because respect matters and because she does not know me. Something in my chest tightens when I see how strong and fragile she looks at the same time. I tell myself to move faster and to keep my eyes where they should be.
Fuck, I think, and I fight the urge to stare. What now?
Open your wrists. You will need your blood. Activate Infernal Veins.
“Wait, did the human say Hellblood?”
“Yeah? How does he think...”
Fuck my life.
I activate Infernal Veins. A translucent pair of long horns rises from my forehead, and thin black lines crawl across my skin like ink that chooses its path.
“ORDER!” Eliskar shouts. “ORDER!”
He catches the uproar before it breaks. The guards freeze and hold their tongues.
I cut my wrists and let the blood pour into my palms while I lean over her. I listen to Baalrek and I obey.
From her eyes, draw lines of blood to her shoulders along the sides of her neck. Bring them back to her mouth, but pass the clavicle first. From the clavicle, take them above the middle of the neck. Keep them straight and parallel.
I draw the lines he describes. The blood gleams like black wine on her red skin.
Good. Do not overlap the diagram you just drew. Start lower on the shoulder. Follow the clavicle and go one-third toward the center of her chest.
You do not mean...
Cloud, this is a ritual. Stay focused.
I breathe, and my hands still. Tears prick because I hate the position this puts her in, yet I see that Eliskar has turned every guard away to give his Princess privacy. Only he watches me, and his eyes warn me to keep my hands honest.
Finish the lines across the middle of the chest. Do not let your hand shake. Good. Loop them to the sides of her ribcage. Good. Take the lines back to the outside of her chest. Join them where they began.
I close the loop and steady my breath. My fingertips feel the warmth of her ribs and the rise and fall of her breath, and I keep my touch gentle.
Start from the bottom of her ribcage. From there, move to the side of her leg and reach her knee. Loop back. Touch the hip bone. From the hip bone, arch the lines of blood above her navel. From the navel, reverse the arch and bring it back to the side of the ribcage.
I trace the path Baalrek commands. Sweat runs down my temples and stings my eyes, and my arms ache from holding them out. The last line meets the first, and the pattern settles across her like a net.
Finally, the diagram stands complete.
Repeat every word after me. I will break it down for you. This is Ancient Infernal.
I repeat the words. They sound like gibberish to me, yet gasps rise behind us. The blood begins to move over her skin like a river in a storm. It races around the circuit that King Baalrek makes me draw.
A demonic face swells above Princess Iskara’s body, and it lets out a cold laugh. It vanishes as fast as it came. Three tight spheres of Mana appear over her chest. Her body stops shaking. A giant lance of Mana erupts a heartbeat later, and it punches through the enchanted ceiling and spears the sky.
Later, we learn that the entire city sees the red ray pierce the clouds and hold for ten seconds.
I sigh, and my body trembles from the blood and the Mana I just spent. The words drain me in a way that leaves my knees weak.
You fulfilled your part of the oath, Jacob Cloud. I shall fulfill mine now.
I nod, and I fight the faintness.
Princess Iskara trembles once, and her chest steadies.
Eliskar steps closer, and he holds his breath.
Princess Iskara opens her eyes and looks at me with confusion.
She looks down at her naked body.
She looks at me again.
This time, confusion gives way to killing intent.
Comments
JW Saxby
Tyftc! 🍻 Jones’ing for more already 😂
Keegan Moss
He finally got to touch a woman
