The Witcher of Crossing

Blood Mage

Chapter 0001: Rebirth through Time

Amid the ruins, Kaldanos slumped against a pile of shattered bricks, his dark blood seeping through his fingers, slowly soaking into his clothes and dripping like pearls onto the broken stones below. Each drop seemed to mark the earth with the fading remnants of his once formidable life.

His eyes, filled with shock and confusion, were locked on the woman standing a short distance away, clutching a blood-stained dagger. She was beautiful-once sweet and innocent-but now that beauty had been distorted by pain and hatred.

The dagger in her hand was an ominous artifact, intricately designed and faintly glowing with magical energy. Now it was drenched in fresh blood, its elegance corrupted by the violence it had wrought.

"I despise that look of yours! Always indifferent, always so oblivious!" she screamed, her voice raw and harsh, cracking with the weight of her emotions. Her fingers gripped the dagger so tightly that her knuckles had turned white, drained of any warmth.

Her emotions were a chaotic storm-anger, fear, guilt, and an overwhelming emptiness, the kind of confusion that comes after exacting long-sought revenge, only to find no solace in the act. But the truth was, Kaldanos had never harbored any enmity toward her.

"It seems my so-called cleverness was nothing more than a mask for my own ignorance. Even now, I still don't understand what I did wrong," Kaldanos spoke in a calm, low voice, his expression eerily serene as death crept closer.

The protective magic he had once relied upon, along with his life-saving artifacts, proved powerless against this unique blade.

Of course, they did. The betrayal had been orchestrated with precision, even involving the team's crucial healer. The blow was unavoidable. Kaldanos could already feel the cold grip of death tightening around him; he knew his time was short.

A faint hum vibrated through the air.

Suddenly, three figures appeared on the previously empty ground before him. The leader, a tall and broad-shouldered young man, had bright eyes and a strong brow that radiated a sense of youthful energy. Yet, the depth in his gaze betrayed an age far greater than his appearance suggested.

The young man looked at Kaldanos with neither joy nor triumph. There was no satisfaction in having vanquished a great foe, only a cautious tension, and perhaps a hint of regret.

Behind him stood two others-one stocky, the other lean-both of them staring intently at Kaldanos with weapons drawn, their faces tense with fear and readiness, as if still unable to believe that the infamous Dread Star Lord was truly on the verge of death.

That dagger-it was the Godslayer, a relic of death.

To orchestrate this assassination, twenty-seven teams of Reincarnators had joined forces, their battles with Kaldanos' Dark Legion still raging elsewhere. His Four Great Generals had been cut off from aiding him.

Even now, they doubted whether this was truly the end. Kaldanos had built a fearsome reputation over the years, and many had tried to exploit his perceived weaknesses, only to be lured into deadly traps. His so-called vulnerabilities had become infamous snares.

"King of Men, it seems... the heavens cannot bear two suns," Kaldanos murmured with a faint sneer, as if mocking the inevitability of their clash.

The young man-Arelcus, the King of Men-stood quietly until Kaldanos' life force had faded entirely. Only then did he speak, his voice low and steady: "You were too arrogant, so arrogant that you never truly listened to anyone."

At that moment, Kaldanos' eyes flared open one last time, his gaze locking onto the woman who now stood close to Arelcus. A faint flicker of disdain and self-mockery crossed his face as he whispered, "I thought, for people like us, surviving mission after mission was already a luxury..."

His voice faded into silence, and his eyes closed for the last time.

In the distance, jubilant cries echoed, voices filled with relief and triumph as the Dread Star Lord fell. His death shattered his army, sealing the fate of the battle.

"We've won!" the woman exclaimed, her face lit with joy.

"Yes, we have," Arelcus replied softly, stroking her back, his expression unreadable. Then, without warning, he took the dagger from her trembling hand, his face hardening. "But your heart... your heart is filthy."

He drove the dagger into her chest, and her eyes widened in shock and disbelief.

"Charm? Ability? Your body? Sorry, but your heart is too tainted." He twisted the blade cruelly before shoving her aside.

"Let's go," Arelcus called to his subordinates, turning away without a second glance.

The lean man hesitated. "The Godslayer..."

Arelcus cast a brief glance over his shoulder. "The Dread Star Lord was a Supreme Being. The weapon that killed him is now cursed, touching every version of him across all time and space. Are you sure you want it?"

The greed in the man's eyes faded rapidly.

The stocky man spat on the fallen woman's face. "A traitor like you deserves no mercy."

Her expression shifted from despair to clarity as she turned her head with effort, gazing at Kaldanos' lifeless body. In her final moments, she understood too late, and her vision dimmed. Her last sight was of Kaldanos' body engulfed in a pale, ghostly flame, the same eerie light that had once shone from his dying star...

The Scottish Highlands lay desolate and wild, winds howling and rain lashing the earth. Dark clouds hung low in the sky, occasionally torn apart by flashes of lightning. The storm raged on, echoing the fury of the battle that had taken place on this very land.

In a muddy expanse, two blood mages faced off in a fierce duel, their robes drenched in water and mud, their breaths labored and heavy. The younger blood mage's eyes burned with a manic excitement, as though the battle only stoked the flames of his inner darkness. His opponent, an older blood mage, appeared worn and weary, his face etched with deep lines of worry and regret. His gaze continually darted to where his wife and child lay motionless in the mud, their fates uncertain and pressing on his every thought.

Finally, unable to endure the torment any longer, the older blood mage raised his trembling hands in surrender. His voice, thick with desperation, called out, "I yield! I accept any punishment you see fit, but my wife and child are innocent. Spare them, and I will submit to whatever fate you choose."

The younger blood mage's eyes gleamed with satisfaction as if he had finally trapped his prey. His wand shimmered with dark power, the storm reflecting in his cold, hardened gaze. He sneered, "You have no right to plead. Traitors deserve nothing but unconditional surrender."

"Alright... I--" The older blood mage's words were abruptly cut off as a bolt of magic struck him, sending his wand flying from his grasp and casting him down into the mud. He landed heavily, his body sinking into the cold, wet earth, his face smeared with muck. Struggling to lift his head, he glared at the younger mage, his eyes burning with a mixture of fury and despair.

"You...' the older blood mage gasped, his voice weak but filled with venomous rage

The younger mage approached slowly. a smug grin curling his lips. "You were nothing but a pawn in this game. And now, the game is over. You've lost."

The older blood mage's shoulders sagged as he muttered, "Yes, I've lost.. But you-"

Before he could finish his thought, the younger mage raised his wand once more, his eyes glowing with a dark and twisted delight. He unleashed a spell that sent searing pain through the older man's body, a curse designed to torment its victim without offering the mercy of death. The older blood mage screamed in agony, his voice hoarse and raw as blood trickled from the corners of his mouth.

"You... were supposed to be.justice.." the older man choked out between gasps for air.

The younger mage let out a harsh, mirthless laugh. "Justice? Don't make me laugh. Justice is just another tool for the powerful to control the weak. Today, I am not here for justice. I am here for vengeance."

"Your actions... they're despicable!" the older blood mage spat through gritted teeth, his eyes wide with fury, a flicker of defiance still burning within him despite the torment. He struggled to rise, his muscles twitching under the excruciating pain, but his body was failing him

"Despicable?" The younger blood mage's smile twisted into something cruel, his eyes gleaming with malice "No, I've barely scratched the surface of what you deserve. You and your kind have trampled over countless innocents, hiding behind your so-called power, your sacred bloodlines, your outdated beliefs. You deserve far worse.'

The storm intensified around them, as though nature itself raged alongside the young blood mage. Another bolt of lightning cracked through the sky, illuminating the dark landscape. The younger mage's voice rose above the howl of the wind, filled with righteous fury. "For every life you've ruined, for every drop of innocent blood you've spilled, today, I will balance the scales This is the end for you."

He raised his wand higher, preparing to deliver the final, fatal blow. The air hummed with the energy of his dark spell, his eyes ablaze with hatred and vengeance. But just as he was about to cast the killing curse, the heavens seemed to intervene. A brilliant bolt of lightning descended from the sky striking his wand and coursing through his body with unimaginable force

The younger blood mage's body convulsed violently as the lightning surged through him. His clothes ignited, flames licking at his skin, and his hair singed to ash. His eyes widened in disbelief as his muscles locked in place, his body crumpling to the ground with a heavy thud. He lay still, his expression frozen in shock, the life drained from his once-vibrant form. The storm seemed to quiet for a moment, as if acknowledging the sudden shift in the battle's course.

"Achoo!" The abrupt sound of someone sneezing broke the tension in the courtroom.

The scene shifted abruptly, revealing a room filled with rows of solemn figures. The fifty judges, who had been peering into the Pensieve, lifted their heads in unison. The air was thick with the weight of the memories they had just witnessed, each one of them having been immersed in the duel that had taken place in the storm-ravaged Scottish Highlands. The violent clash between the two blood mages still echoed in their minds.

This was no ordinary trial. It was a historic event, and the trial wasn't just about determining one man's guilt or innocence. It was about questioning the very fabric of the blood mage society, their moral code, and the future of their world. The battle in the storm, witnessed by all, had left a profound impact on the judges, and now, murmurs began to rise, each judge wrestling with their own interpretation of what had transpired.