Eiran guided their perceptions through the blood pathways, teaching them how to manipulate the crimson streams within. Gradually, their veins rose to the surface, blood lines forming intricate patterns around their bodies.
The process was slow and complex, allowing them to observe every detail of the intricate procedure.
Blood Art: Vein—Blood Purification.
But this technique accomplished far more than simple purification. It energized the body, brought healing, and granted minor immunity to anything purged from the bloodstream. With dedicated practice, one could potentially develop complete immunity to various ailments.
Eiran flickered away, leaving them to grasp the technique properly on their own.
***
The next day arrived with waves of exclamation among the people. The difference they felt was remarkable. Yesterday's blood purification had opened their eyes to many possibilities, and they were grateful for the gift.
Though not everyone had fully grasped the technique, many could perform it and would help teach the others. One crucial realization was that one didn't need to be sick to benefit from it—this was a health-improving skill for all.
This time, Eiran didn't position himself at the front with the warriors. Instead, he stayed behind the archers alongside Vael and the Misfortune Teller.
The clash began. By now, the warriors had learned to fight effectively even without constant instruction. However, they never let their guard down—a lesson hard-earned through experience.
Of course, some mistakes occurred here and there, but overall performance was excellent. No deaths occurred, and no limbs were lost.
Another beast was captured, and Eiran stepped forward, repeating his previous demonstration. As the creature was cut open and the blood entity emerged, Eiran removed the Bonefilm on his body.
The blood collapsed, but then something unexpected happened. It began to transmute into something entirely different.
The red hue vanished, becoming transparent like water before shifting again—first yellow, then brown, and finally settling on white.
'It's searching for a transmuted state that I can't influence, and it's settled on bone!'
Indeed, a bone creature rose from the filtered blood while the original beast lost its skeletal structure and shriveled away. The bone entity lunged forward but crumbled to dust within a few paces.
Eiran's dominion over blood was absolute, but over bones, it was supreme. Only greater force could hope to block his influence.
"My test ends here," Eiran announced. He had seen all he needed to.
Vael requested permission to capture beasts for training purposes, and Eiran approved. Traps were set, and the beasts were allowed to approach.
The harvest was bountiful—over thirty-four creatures were captured alive and transported to Hollow Fell, where they were kept in secure cages.
***
Everything flowed normally from Eiran's perspective. The people worked diligently with minor rivalries spurring them on.
He also taught Vael another skill that hardened the skin, making him unique among the rest. Eiran advised him to remain humble and learn from the best.
At the end of the week—exactly two months since his arrival—Eiran vanished from their sight.
***
Eiran was weightless before finding himself in a hall similar to his chamber with a stone at the center, though this one was smaller.
He faced a wall where Ethiopian runes shifted and changed before settling into a final message:
[You have successfully marked your presence in the aborigines of Ethiopia]
That was all it said, though before that, it had been narrating how he should have handled the people differently—using more force, displaying strength, inspiring awe, defending himself against accusations, and presenting himself in a better light.
Eiran ignored the critique. He was growing skeptical about this random Ethiopian information. What if some powerful prince with connections to the system could influence these messages?
The fact that someone had invaded his trial area and caused the blood rain didn't reassure him. Eiran looked through the window and saw a blood mist outside, which he recognized immediately—it carried corruption within it.
The chamber remained clean, so he stepped outside, his cape flapping in the wind as it pushed away unwanted air.
As Eiran emerged, the entire blood mist flooded toward him, accompanied by three thunderous roars and a sound like throats being torn apart.
His cape functioned as both air and aura purifier. The thick blood mist swirled around him, boiling and emanating silent screams in his direction.
The mist became liquid-like, pressing forward to touch him despite his dominion's weight. Surprisingly, the blood didn't collapse under his influence—it behaved as if it weren't blood at all, but merely red liquid.
He beckoned with his hand and actively pulled the red liquid toward him. Three powerful, raging intents with endless energy reserves were connected to the blood, actively preventing it from falling under anyone's influence.
This resistance failed instantly as Eiran made his intention clear. The swirling mist and blood were sucked into his palm, forming a large, boiling droplet.
With the surrounding area cleared of mist, he surveyed the destruction: broken trees, scorched grass, and shattered ground.
He then examined the blood before him. Raging madness and anger flooded his mind, though no substantial understanding came in the short time he observed it.
Blood Art: Bone—Bonefilm
The blood continued boiling, but some of the gazes trying to reach him calmed. Eiran made the blood float in place and moved toward where he sensed vitality.
The area was devastated, with a heavy atmosphere lingering from residual abilities still affecting the land.
Deeper in, he found carcasses of beasts lying broken—no sword slashes or weapon marks, only pure brutality that had shattered their bodies and torn them apart.
The trail of destruction was decorated with scattered organs and bones, leading him to the source of it all.
A girl, no older than himself, sat naked with her face buried in her thighs, breathing deeply and weeping as if the oxygen weren't sufficient for her needs.
She was covered in grime and blood, her body radiating vitality and force. Eiran knew she could crush him with her force alone, let alone her fists.
"Nyara Dume!" he called. She snapped her head up, and her body blurred. The grime and blood vanished, replaced by an oversized gown with a belt at her hip.
"Your Highness. You're here already," she said, composed. "I'm sorry. I was just cleaning the area from—"
"Silence!" he commanded. Her body, face, and eyes appeared normal, but her blood told him she was on the brink of collapse.
"Let's go back inside," he said. She nodded and walked ahead, taken aback when she noticed she was now the same height as him. She examined her hands and body.
"You look cute," he joked, and she giggled, though the sound was artificial—it didn't come from her heart.
"You stayed in the mist and was suffocating," Eiran observed.
"Apologies—"
"Why?" he asked.
"Blood monsters were still rising. I had to clean them up."
"I see."
She came to a halt agitated when she saw the boiling blood, recognizing it immediately. A hand on her shoulder made her calm.
"I contained it," he said. She nodded, her body flickering as she retrieved a container and stored the blood inside.
"We have ten days to prepare you," she said, looking at his face and attire. Seeing no injuries, she sighed with relief. "In ten days, there will be a Royal Court Trial where we can earn Ethio. After that, another ten days to visit His Majesty, the King."
"We're going to meet the king?" Eiran asked, surprised.
"Yes, but one must have at least 100 Ethio to qualify. That makes the Royal Court Trial extremely important."
Eiran nodded before leaning forward. "Sleep in peace."
Her blood stilled, and she collapsed into sleep. He caught her and placed her gently on the stone at the center.
Eiran studied her face and form. "She is beautiful," he said without jest. Her skin's tenderness matched his own, which shouldn't have been possible given his unique nature.
He turned and explored the area, finding over three hundred beasts—tigers that had been brutally torn apart.
He came to a place where two energies had clashed: one heavy, one soft but persistent. The soft energy belonged to Nyara, and Eiran found her blood on the ground, still oozing with that power.
With a gesture, the blood came to him, forming a droplet as the energy calmed. He braced himself before tasting it.
His tongue burned and a scream reached his mind, translating into the pain Nyara had felt in that moment.
Through the blood, Eiran witnessed the scene: blood flowing within her as she fought in fear, bites marking her body as she resisted. Then something golden invaded her, pinning her down. Her blood roared in response, and from her depths, her force began to increase—but the golden energy exploded.
She was ripped apart, torn, and felt every moment of it.
Eiran froze, his brain boiling as he nearly lost consciousness before falling to his knees. The blood in his veins raged to cool his mind before he took a deep breath.
He stood unsteadily and returned to the chamber, slumping down with trembling hands. He relaxed them, pushing away the memory.
His tongue, where it had burned, was slowly healing as saliva flowed over it.
Nyara's blood floated beside him. "I need to learn more about death," he muttered.
He stood and went to where Nyara had been torn apart, finding numerous weapons, objects, parchments, and tools he didn't recognize scattered nearby.
"She really did have storage under her gown but how can she keep so many things," he muttered, selecting a small empty container and placing her blood inside.
Though many thoughts raced through his mind, and the scattered items looked intriguing, he ignored them for now.
He returned and placed the container aside. His tongue had healed completely by now.
"Five minutes," Eiran complained. "It's acceptable to have a weakness," he said, pulling out a jar he'd brought from the settlement and drinking the golden liquid inside.
"The world wouldn't be fair if the great me wasn't constrained by something," he said, sipping the sweet liquid. "But I must keep it a secret."
Eiran's weakness was simple yet profound: his own Dominion. The very blood he commanded was toxic to him—or rather, acted like poison.
Simply put, his body rejected all blood that wasn't Celestial Blood, irritated so deeply that it burned itself when foreign blood touched it.
Like an allergy, his body was allergic to other blood. They were contamination to his celestial form.
He was a pure, holy lake, and any other blood was grimy dirt that would contaminate the pristine waters.
He was a complete, white, unblemished canvas, and any other blood was black ink that could corrupt the purity.
Eiran's command and control of blood ensured it never actually touched him—a film formed around his body preventing direct contact unless he specifically allowed it.
"Hmm. If blood of my own level touches me, my body won't probably burn itself," Eiran mused, holding his blade. "But what grade is my blood exactly? I should ask Dr. Gerald."
He dropped the blade and stood with slumped shoulders. "I'm tired. I want to sleep."
Taking up the blade again, he dropped it once more to remove his royal attire, leaving only shorts, and was about to begin training when he dropped the weapon again.
He ran outside. Three roars reached him from different directions. Ignoring them, he checked the items that had fallen from Nyara's storage and collected food among them.
Returning inside, he held the sword but dropped it again, slumping to sit and lean back.
"What is it?" Eiran asked, agitated. "Tell me!" he spoke again.
Eiran was incapable of concentrating on anything when his heart wasn't focused. He was tired, yes, but truthfully, he was ignoring his emotions.
Addressing his blood directly, rage overwhelmed him, and the scene from Nyara's blood memory came flooding back in full detail.
There had been pain—99% of the blood's content—but within the remaining 1% lay a myriad of emotions, thoughts, desires, ambitions, and regrets.
Amid that chaos was a strand of thought and feeling about him, conveying one thing: regret at not being able to stand beside him.
Eiran's eyes grew wet. Even at the moment of absolute death, she had wished to survive to fulfill her duty.
Eiran understood what his blood demanded: Judgment.
"I will punish him!"
A wave of satisfaction washed over him. His blood was content now, and he could focus on whatever training he chose.
Eiran smiled. Undistracted at last, he stood with sword in hand and began mastering the Sliding Moon Art in preparation for the Royal Court Trial.