*Date: 33,480 Second Quarter - Chalice Theocracy*
The next morning began with the dull clang of practice bells echoing through the dorm corridor. Aris's shoulders still ached from yesterday's beating. The bruises on his jaw had faded thanks to healing cures, but the memory of hitting the ground remained vivid. He dressed in silence, ignoring Orric's half-hearted "You good?"
"Fine," he muttered, though his reflection in the small mirror looked anything but. Dark circles shadowed his eyes from the late-night reading.
He had to stop frowning, but couldn't find any joy. The weight of being ranked ninety-second pressed down on him like physical chains.
The classes were short and filled with religious made-up lessons. Prayers to the Chalice, hymns about divine service, lectures on proper devotional posture. After the lessons, duels began again.
The central hall had been cleared for the second day. Dust from chalk circles hung in the air like battlefield smoke. Students crowded the balconies, whispering wagers. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation.
"Templar Acolyte Aris Orvellis versus Templar Acolyte Dravik!"
Dravik, a mountain of a human with silver-frosted tips in his dark hair, stepped forward, smirking. His muscles bulged under his training tunic. "Don't take this personal, library boy."
Aris reached into his satchel. His fingers brushed the pink-tinted vial. The blood-enhanced force potion he'd accidentally created. He hesitated for only a heartbeat. Then he pulled it out and drank it.
It burned down his throat like liquid iron. For a moment, nothing happened. Then warmth surged through his limbs. His pulse drummed faster. His senses sharpened. Colors grew more vivid. Sounds became clearer. The feeling was much more intense than normal force potions. Whatever it was, it was certainly much better.
Before the match started, Aris tapped into his Blood Initiate title. He forced everything he had to maximum, pulling power from his own vitality. His skin prickled with energy.
Dravik struck first, blade sweeping low in a practiced arc. Aris caught the swing on his shield, sliding backward but holding firm. The impact jarred his arms, but he held. He countered with a quick kick to Dravik's shin and a burst of Light Missiles. Five, six, eight spinning orbs erupted from his palm like orbiting stars. They streaked through the air, whistling.
Dravik blocked most with his blade, but two smashed into his chest. The impact sent him stumbling.
Gasps rippled from the crowd. Students leaned forward on the balconies.
Then the buff faded. The heat vanished like water through cupped hands. Strength drained from Aris's limbs. They turned to sand. Dravik recovered quickly, his next strike slamming through Aris's weakened guard. The training sword caught him in the ribs, sending him skidding out of the ring.
"Winner: Dravik!"
The hall cheered. Aris barely heard them. His heart hammered wildly. The potion's aftertaste was blood and smoke. "It shouldn't have ended so soon, the effects," he muttered to himself.
That afternoon, he faced a fae girl with frost-tipped hair and a bow of conjured ice. Her name was Elara. She moved with ethereal grace. He went in without any potion this time, just to test himself against pure skill.
Big mistake.
The first arrow shattered his shield on impact. Splinters exploded outward. The second arrow froze his left arm, ice crackling up from his elbow. The third sent him tumbling backward on a sheet of conjured ice. He slid across the circle and out of bounds.
"Match over!"
He exhaled frost, white mist curling from his lips. His ranking slipped to ninety-two. The only one without any points.
He skipped dinner. The thought of food turned his stomach. He dragged himself to the unused basement lab instead. Candles flickered over rows of cauldrons and glass vials. The air smelled of herbs, rust, and desperation.
Fox was already there, tail twitching atop a stool. "You look like boiled cabbage."
Aris didn't answer. He measured out crushed berries, bear claw powder. Then he pricked his thumb with a clean needle and let drops of his own blood fall into the mixture. The mixture hissed and turned crimson, swirling as if alive.
"What are you doing, playing with your blood, huh?" Fox asked.
"Trying something new."
He opened up the book Lyra had given him. Ancient diagrams showed complex alchemical processes. He was trying to replicate a similar process of strengthening spells to potions with blood. The text was dense, written in an archaic style, but he'd found references to "vital essence enhancement."
He stirred faster. The potion thickened, pulsed once with faint red light, and stabilized. A minor success. The force tonic worked again. He corked two vials, labeled them in chalk. Then he turned to the next experiment.
"Shadowveil Brew," he read from Lyra's copied pages. "Cloak of mist. Needs Fireroot plus Cinder Ash."
He ground both together in a mortar. The powder was dark gray, almost black. He added spring water from a clean flask. Then, almost absent-mindedly, he pricked his thumb again and let a few drops fall in.
The mixture snapped.
A flash. Red light, smoke, pressure building instantly.
BOOM!
The explosion threw him backward. He stumbled, coughing, hand seared red and blistering. A crater of scorched stone smoked in the cauldron's belly. Black char marked the table.
Fox's ears flattened against his skull. "You blew up the table, genius!"
Aris stared through the smoke, panting. And grinned. "But it worked. That was... a ten-foot blast radius."
"Worked? You nearly fried your eyebrows off! Plus, you can't use that in the duels."
"But I can use it in the dungeons. When I'm in danger." His mind raced with possibilities.
He reached for a fresh flask, carefully scooping a little of the glowing residue. When the spark hissed again in the bottle, he felt the thrill of discovery pulse through him.
"Explosive Vial," he whispered. "Unstable... but usable."
Days blurred together. Duel, brew, fail, repeat. The pattern became his existence.
Orric tried once to drag him out for sparring. "You're acting like a ghost, brother. Eat something."
Aris just shook his head. "Need to finish something."
He wasn't ready to tell anyone that his blood could power potions. They'd call him cursed. Or worse, a heretic. Chalice didn't look kindly on blood magic.
The cauldrons became his world. Each cut, each droplet cost him vitality, but success rates doubled. The smell of iron never left his hands. His skin grew paler with each passing day.
Fox began sleeping on a shelf far away from the fumes. "You're gonna pickle yourself in that stink."
"Maybe then I'll be preserved forever," Aris muttered, stirring another batch.
He took Lyra's relic one night to catalog what he'd made. He wished there was another relic that just showed him what he was making without all the manual recording.
"I wish there was another relic that just showed me what I am making," he said to himself.
He catalogued results on parchment:
**Aris's Guessed Catalog**
| Potion | Ingredients | Success Rate | Duration/Effect | Cost |
|--------|------------|--------------|-----------------|------|
| Minor Force Tonic (Blood ver.) | Redthorn Berry + Bear Claw Powder + 2 drops blood | 60% | 10 min, +15 Force, +10 Resilience | 2 HP |
| Minor Explosive Vial (Blood ver.) | Fireroot + Cinder Ash + 3 drops blood | 30% | Instant, 10 ft fire blast | 3 HP |
| Minor Stamina Elixir (Blood ver.) | Honeyroot + Rye Seed + 1 drop blood | 80% | 10 min, +15 Stamina, +10 Vitality | 1 HP |
| Minor Agility Elixir (Blood ver.) | Swiftgrass + Wild Honey + Dewdrop Resin + 3 drops blood | 60% | 10 min, +15 Agility, +5 Resilience, +5 Vitality | 3 HP |
"These seem accurate until I mess it up," Aris muttered.
He healed each wound with Healing Cure. Warm light sealed cuts and restored skin. But the spell couldn't fix everything. His skin stayed pale. His fingers trembled slightly from blood loss. Power always demanded payment.
By week's end, he'd brewed a dozen bottles. The duels resumed.
"Aris Orvellis versus Halfling Priest student Cador!"
Cador twirled his staff, smirking. The halfling was short but powerfully built. "Try not to bleed this time, human."
"Funny," Aris muttered, downing a force tonic and agility elixir before the signal. And forcing his Blood Initiate to maximum again.
The rush hit instantly. The world sharpened. Sound slowed to a crawl. Cador's first holy bolt whizzed past his shoulder. Aris ducked, rolled, flung a Light Missile barrage.
Cador blocked with his staff's barrier, a shimmering dome of golden light. Then he swung the staff like a club. Aris caught it on his shield. Sparks burst where holy met holy. He retaliated with another missile volley. But this time, he'd mixed a sliver of blood into the spell earlier that morning, experimenting with infusing his magic directly.
The missiles flared red-white, cutting through the barrier like it wasn't there. They grazed Cador's robes, leaving scorch marks. The crowd gasped again, louder this time.
Cador stumbled, clutching his chest. "What... was that?"
Aris didn't answer. He was already gasping. The tonic wearing off far too quickly. His limbs wobbled, threatening to give out.
Cador recovered, swung again. Both collapsed at almost the same time. Too drained to continue. But Aris managed to crawl out of the ring first. He climbed to his feet, fist raised above his head.
"Aris won!"
**Rank: 87**
Still pitiful. But the small cheer from Orric in the stands made him lift his head. A smile ghosted across his face before exhaustion dragged it down.
Later, back in the basement, he sat amid bottles and half-burnt notes. Fox pawed at a corked vial of crimson liquid.
"Why is it consuming so fast?" Aris asked, mostly to himself.
"Form a sentence," Fox said.
"Potions should last ten minutes, but they finish so soon."
Fox's ears perked up. "Are you using Blood Initiate sacrifices on spells?"
Aris's eyes darkened. All the pieces suddenly clicked into place. "Yeah."
Fox blinked slowly. "Maybe they interfere with each other."
"They draw from the same well." Aris's voice was quiet but certain. "So in order to get specific potion buffs, I need to stop pushing the general buff."
"It is hurting you anyway. At least cut out one," Fox advised.
Aris didn't reply. He held the vial up to the candlelight. The liquid shimmered, alive and angry. The red tinge caught the flame and threw it back darker.
For the first time in weeks, Aris smiled. Not with joy, but with quiet conviction. He'd lost every fight that mattered until today. But in the smoke and blood of his failures, something new was being forged.
Not a priest.
Not a templar.
An alchemist of blood.
He had found his path. Dangerous, unorthodox, potentially heretical. But his. And in this broken world where traditional advancement was sealed away, unconventional paths might be the only way to survive.