Re: Tales of the Rune-Tech Sage

Chapter 8 - Bloodline Space

CH8: Bloodline Space

***

Silence.

The entire arena was frozen.

No one had given Alex a chance going into the duel. That sentiment only grew when it was revealed that Marcus wasnʼt just a Novice but a full-fledged Beginner Mage.

It took several moments after Alexʼs departure for the crowd to find their voices again.

”Who was it that called him weak? Come out and say it again—I dare you,” someone muttered, breaking the silence.

”You canʼt blame them,” another responded. ”Even his own family considered him a failure.”

”We shouldʼve known better,” someone else sighed. ”The Furies are lunatics. We expected their idea of ʼweakʼ to be the same as ours? Thatʼs on us.”

”The truth is, Fury-weak might still be stronger than most peopleʼs definition of strong.”

Discussions quickly picked up as the shock wore off.

”Not only was he not weak, heʼs just as ruthless as the rest of that cursed bloodline—he severed his opponentʼs arm in front of two Grand Mages and Lady Zora!”

”It mightʼve been kinder to kill Marcus outright. Losing your dominant arm ruins a mageʼs ability to cast precision spells. Not to mention the mental trauma.”

”I think that was the point. That arm is a message: donʼt mess with a Fury.”

”I wonder how Earl Hertarian will react to the news?”

”What can he do? Moving against Alex now means dealing with Earl Drake Fury.”

”Earl Hertarian already struggles with Countess Megan—the reasonable one of the Furies. He wonʼt want to tangle with the Mad Earl too.”

”Letʼs be honest, Marcus brought this on himself. He poked a sleeping tiger.

”Did he really think the son of the Mad Earl would be ordinary? When has a tiger ever birthed a house cat?”

”Forget Marcus. What I want to know is: how did a Novice cast Magic Shield? Even Intermediate Mages struggle with that spell!”

”Yeah, and what was that triple shot magic? That wasnʼt a Magic Arrow, right?”

---

While the general crowd could only speculate, the higher seats—occupied by seasoned mages—saw through it all.

A circle of Great Mages and Grand Mages analyzed Alexʼs performance with calm interest.

”I understand now why the Tower Master favors him,” one Grand Mage said. ”Heʼs a natural-born Spell Formation genius.”

”Thatʼs underselling it,” another replied. ”His understanding of spell structure and practical combat application is well beyond his rank. He couldnʼt have derived those spells mid-cast without both knowledge and talent.”

”Dispersing the mana from a Magic Ball into a defensive dome, then using the its shockwave characteristic to neutralize the Fireball... That level of creativity is rare.”

”And letʼs not ignore his version of the Magic Arrow. He split it into smaller bolts—the reduced mass of the arrow allowed the bolts to travel at a faster velocity than a normal Magic Arrow.”

”He didnʼt just cast spells. He evolved them in real-time. It was simply a masterclass in Spellcasting.”

”If I had a student like him, Iʼd throw millions in grant money his way too—if I could afford it.”

A few sighed in admiration.

”Do you think Agrutʼs interference means heʼll be involved in future disciple disputes?”

”Doubtful,” one Grand Mage replied. ”Orcs value tradition—he stepped in because Rodric tried to interfere with a Dragon Duel. That was his only reason.”

”Good. I was worried this would drag us into the Towerʼs internal drama. Thatʼs a muddy swamp Iʼd rather not wade into.”

”Agreed.”

---

Elsewhere in the arena, a different kind of chaos was unfolding.

”Ahh! I lost everything! This was supposed to be a guaranteed win!” a man howled in misery near the betting square.

”Damn Marcus Hertarian! How incompetent must a mage be to lose to an acolyte? Whoʼs going to refund my losses?” another grumbled bitterly.

Most had bet on Marcus. But a lucky few had wagered on Alex.

Sensing the danger from the furious losers, those fortunate few collected their winnings in silence and made quick exits.

-

The gamblers werenʼt the only losers that day.

In one of the VIP boxes, Helmut Wastelander raged. Anything he could get his hands on was smashed to pieces.

”Useless trash!”

”All the resources used to make him a Beginner Mage—wasted!”

”That damned wench Zora will use this as leverage to stall my plans... Damn it all!”

But more than Marcusʼs humiliating defeat, what truly unsettled Helmut was the punishment Zora had promised on behalf of the Tower Master.

He didnʼt dare waste time.

He bolted out of the arena and rushed toward his dorm. He needed to alert his family—fast—before Merlin, the Legendary Dragonslayer Mage, acted.

---

Alex, on the other hand, ignored the buzz surrounding his victory and calmly returned to his dorm.

Well... not exactly calmly.

His body trembled. His head throbbed.

Despite appearances, the duel had been anything but easy.

He had overdrafted both his Mana and Spiritual Force.

Overdrafting core energies—mana, internal energy, spiritual force—could be extremely dangerous. At best, it would leave one weakened and unable to regenerate for a time. At worst, it could permanently cripple oneʼs ability to use the energy—or even result in death.

Thankfully, Alexʼs spiritual force was innately resilient.

But his mana... that was the issue.

He stumbled into his room, grabbed a high-quality Mana Potion, downed it in a single gulp, and immediately sat cross-legged to meditate.

But the moment he closed his eyes...

Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

The sound of his own heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out all other senses.

Then—his mind blanked.

---

When Alex regained clarity, he found himself in a dark, unfamiliar space.

Before him stood two altars.

One flickered between crimson and ruby red, tinged faintly with gold. The other was a pure, radiant white-gold.

Between them, a shallow pit brimmed with a glowing white-gold liquid from the latter altar.

Alex quickly realized what this place was: a Bloodline Space, a metaphysical dimension tied to ancient and powerful bloodlines.

Only those with exceptional bloodlines—and who met strict conditions—could ever enter this realm. For those that did, it signaled the potential to become a Bloodline Warlock, someone who could consciously tap into their bloodlineʼs latent power.

The presence of two altars confirmed it: Alex had not one, but two bloodlines.

And judging by the matching height and presence, both were of equal, extraordinary potency.

He instinctively understood—it was his Furor Bloodline that had brought him here.

The beatings, the pain, the bloodshed... none of it had been for mere revenge or to prove himself.

He had orchestrated it all to awaken the bloodline.

The humiliation from Marcusʼs gang had pushed his suppressed emotions to the brink, and his ruthless retaliation had satisfied the bloodlineʼs dormant cravings.

Now, there was just one step left.

Alex walked up to the Furor Bloodline altar, which trembled violently, fluctuating between ruby and crimson as if trying to burst free.

It wanted to grant him power—but something blocked it.

He glanced at the other altar, the white-gold one, and realized the answer.

Without hesitation, he stepped beside the pit and slammed his fist into the altar.

Crack!

His knuckles split open, skin tearing, blood spilling—but he didnʼt stop.

His eyes gleamed red, in sync with the pulsing altar.

Buried emotions—pain, abandonment, loneliness, resentment—everything the original Alex had felt after his failed Bloodline Awakening Ceremony surged forth.

The altar had denied him once. He wasnʼt going to accept that again.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Time blurred as he pounded the altar with bloodied fists, until—at last—his hand broke through the stone.

A stream of red-gold liquid burst forth.

He stumbled back as the viscous energy flowed freely into the pit below.

Interestingly, the red-gold of the Furor Bloodline did not mix with the white-gold liquid already present.

Instead, the two bloodlines sat side-by-side, equal in volume and intensity—yet unmixed.

At some point, Alex had become fully unclothed, his body stripped bare by the mystical transformation.

He stepped into the pool—right at the center where both liquids met—and submerged himself.

Instantly, pain exploded across every nerve.

---

”Argh!”

Alexʼs scream echoed only within his mind as his body convulsed in the real world.

Muscles tore. Bones cracked. His blood boiled.

The Furor Bloodline rampaged through his body like wildfire, tearing him down only to rebuild him anew.

His face twisted between excruciating agony and euphoric bliss.

Eventually, after what felt like an eternity...

The pain faded.

The chaos calmed.

And Alex drifted into a deep, dreamless slumber.

-

Groan~

Alex groaned as he stirred awake—half a day after his transformation.

His bones creaked in protest as he pushed himself up. It took a moment, but eventually, he managed to stand on steady feet.

Strangely, his perspective felt... higher.

He staggered over to the mirror, blinking slowly at the reflection staring back at him.

He had grown.

He now stood at five feet tall, a noticeable leap from his previous height of just over four feet. A full head taller, in fact.

It was a dramatic transformation—one brought about by the successful manifestation of his Furor Bloodline.

But that wasnʼt all.

His facial features had become sharper and more defined. The innocent, baby-faced charm he once had had given way to a sharper, more mature allure. He now looked less like a pretty-boy and more like a devilishly handsome rogue.

There was just one downside.

”Iʼm scrawny again,” Alex muttered with a sigh.

The muscle mass heʼd painstakingly built up over four months had been burned away—devoured by the awakening bloodline to fuel its rampage.

Thankfully, it didnʼt seem like something proper meals and nutrition couldnʼt fix over time.

Beyond the physical, Alex could sense subtle, intangible changes stirring deep within. Changes in perception, in sensation—possibly in strength or affinity. But he would need time and careful study to understand them fully.

For now, there was somewhere he needed to be.

He tossed on a clean mage robe, adjusted it with a practiced motion, and stepped out of his dorm.

Not long after, he stood before the doors of the Tower Masterʼs office.

***