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Progressing to the rank of a Level 3 acolyte wasn't merely a matter of mastering the intricate combination of mind runes or fortifying the expansive sea of consciousness within oneself; instead, it hinged upon the enigmatic void of darkness that loomed beyond those initial stages. Within this ethereal realm, known as the space of Hypnos, an acolyte was compelled to shatter their limitations and break free, employing the intricate frameworks of spell models to achieve liberation.
Leylin possessed a depth of knowledge far surpassing that of the typical acolyte. Such insights were typically guarded secrets, precious tidbits of wisdom withheld by both professors and the academy itself. For many acolytes without the backing of a faction, this lack of guidance often proved fatal during this perilous phase of their journey.
Fortunately, thanks to the thoughtful consideration of Dorotte, his mentor, and Leylin's privileged position as his student, he had been thoroughly prepared. Dorotte had ensured that Leylin was not only aware of the challenges ahead but had also made all the necessary arrangements to navigate them successfully.
Leylin could sense a subtle transformation stirring within his spiritual force—it felt more vibrant, more alive than ever before. At last, he had ascended to the coveted rank of a Level 3 acolyte! His spiritual force surged with astonishing rapidity, a phenomenon fueled by both his breakthrough and the potent blood extraction ritual he had performed on the formidable Great Withering Mankestre.
A wave of dizziness washed over Leylin, his head spinning as his spiritual force escalated at an almost uncontrollable pace.
7.2
7.5
9.9
12.4
14.9
16.1
17.8
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The spiritual force, which seemed to soar as if propelled by a rocket, climbed relentlessly higher. When the final measurement leaped into view, it settled at 17.8, at last stabilizing after its meteoric rise.
"Fuck!" Leylin cursed under his breath. With this abrupt and overwhelming surge in spiritual force, his body struggled to adjust to the sudden shift. Blood began to trickle from his nose, a stark sign of the strain he was under.
[A/N : For anyone confused why is their a stat measurement for spiritual force growth when Voldemort doesn't have A. I. Chip, it's purely for the readers to understand this particular scene otherwise it makes no sense. And magus do have the ability to determine their strength just not as detailed and metric as A. I. Chip did. ]
"The spiritual force of a Level 3 acolyte typically ranges between 10 and 20," Leylin mused inwardly, "but thanks to the bloodline extraction, I've soared to the heights of a seasoned, top-tier acolyte. The increase is far too rapid—despite my peak Knight physique, my body can barely withstand it!"
His thoughts churned restlessly, but soon his expression stiffened as ominous cracking sounds reverberated from deep within his frame. Simultaneously, sharp, unrelenting pain coursed through every fiber of his being.
Leylin's facial muscles twisted in agony, and with a groan, he collapsed flat onto the cold, unforgiving floor.
"Aaahhh!" he cried out.
A faint, grayish-black halo of light shimmered into existence, hovering above him and enveloping his entire form. This eerie glow was a byproduct of the Reactive Elixir he had consumed earlier. As the halo flickered, a torrent of yellowish-black pus oozed from his pores, expelled from his body along with an overpowering, acrid stench that filled the air.
(Image)
Gritting his teeth against the torment, Leylin forced himself to rise. With trembling hands, he retrieved a potion from the leather bag beside him, uncorked it, and drank its contents in one swift gulp. Almost immediately, a flicker of relief softened his strained expression.
At that moment, his body was drenched in a foul mixture of sweat and pus, exuding an acidic odor so potent it was as though he'd been dredged up from the depths of a sewer.
"Tsk," Leylin muttered in disgust. He reached for a rune plate, clenched it in his fist, and crushed it with a decisive squeeze. In an instant, a cascade of water enveloped him, washing away the grime and impurities until he was cleansed of the filth.
(Image)
Leylin then pressed a button mounted on the wall of his chamber. Minutes later, Butler Dicus appeared at the threshold, his demeanor composed yet attentive.
"Send for the Grand Knight," Leylin commanded.
Dicus hesitated for a fleeting moment, his gaze flickering across the disheveled state of the room. Grand Knight Saeed was still recovering from grievous injuries sustained during his last mission, yet Leylin's authority was absolute. With a reluctant nod, Dicus murmured his assent and departed to fulfill the order.
A short while later, the door creaked open, and Saeed limped into the room. The Grand Knight was an imposing figure—tall and broad-shouldered, his bald head gleaming faintly in the dim light. Yet his once-formidable presence was diminished: one eye was covered with black path, and his left hand had been severed, ending in a scarred stump. He bowed stiffly to Leylin, his movements slow and pained.
(Image)
Leylin waved him closer with a casual gesture. As Saeed shuffled forward, Leylin's hand darted to a dagger resting on the table beside him. In one fluid motion, he seized the blade and slashed it across Saeed's throat. Blood sprayed forth, staining the floor crimson.
Saeed's single eye widened in shock, but no sound escaped his lips as he crumpled lifelessly to the ground.
Leylin offered no explanation, no justification. To him, Saeed was already a broken relic—useless in his current state. If nothing else, the Grand Knight could still serve a purpose in death. Leylin intended to extract his blood essence, a process he could only perform on the deceased—at least for now. Perhaps it was a limitation of his current abilities, or perhaps the individuals he'd encountered thus far were simply too weak to withstand the extraction while alive.
Steeling himself, Leylin prepared for another blood extraction ritual. Within the boundless expanse of his sea of consciousness, a blood altar materialized, its surface slick and gleaming with a dark, visceral sheen. At its center rested a grey-colored tome—the Cursed Bloodline Codex—its pages radiating an ominous power that fueled the ritual.
Leylin's voice rose in a low, rhythmic chant, the words of an incantation spilling from his lips:
"Grand Knight, heed your master's call,
Serve with blood, surrender all.
Yield your life essence, pure and bright,
For the Knight God's rise in endless night."
The air thrummed with arcane energy as the ritual took hold. Thanks to his recent ascension to Level 3 acolyte, Leylin could now effortlessly suppress the side effects of extracting blood essence from a Grand Knight. As his physical stats swelled with newfound strength, he could finally adapt to the vast, sudden spike in his spiritual force. A delicate balance emerged within him, harmonizing his power and amplifying it manifold.
Even among the ranks of Level 3 acolytes, Leylin would now stand as a peak combatant, a force to be reckoned with.