Chapter 35: Twelve Ancient Families
September 11th, Year 1420.
Dawn barely kissed the horizon when Raven rose, the chill of the morning air brushing against his skin. Spear in hand, he practiced for an hour, each thrust and parry slicing the silence of the empty hall. His movements were precise, deliberate, each repetition engraving perfection deeper into muscle memory.
An hour later, he left the master bedroom and almost collided with Emanuel, who walked along the corridor, a file clutched under one arm.
"What is it?" Raven asked, curiosity lacing his tone.
"This file contains all the information you requested about shops selling Magical Beast corpses, My Lord," Emanuel said, pausing as he studied Raven's expression. "Due to the Wizard Alliance's restrictions on selling magical items to mortals, ordinary shops offer only Mutated corpses—and even those cost around 5,000 gold coins. For Rank-2 or Rank-3 corpses, we must rely on black-market auctions."
He handed Raven a document from the file.
"Seven Calls in Bloodstone City is a well-known black-market organization. They auction peak Rank-2 Magical Beasts every weekend. To participate, one needs a recommendation badge from a Seven Calls member."
Emanuel produced a badge-like emblem, placing it carefully in Raven's hand.
"This badge," Emanuel explained, "came from your friend when I inquired through the Mercenary Guild. You may use it freely."
Raven raised an eyebrow. "A friend of mine has connections in Bloodstone City? Isn't that near Great Hillcrow Woodlands, one of the empire's seven most dangerous places?"
[There is a trace of shadow elemental power etched into it. Probably a tracking spell.] Zera's voice whispered inside his mind.
"Oh? And who is this generous friend?" Raven asked, puzzled.
"Martin Amell, My Lord," Emanuel answered.
Raven's thoughts flickered. A member of the Amell family… can they still track me if the badge is in my inventory?
[No. Your inventory resides in your soul. Not even a Divine could locate it.]
Raven's lips curved. "Good." He stored the badge and glanced over the documents.
"Next is information about the Iron Peak City black auction house. Hosted by the Duke of Arcturus, it only allows nobles and wizards. Auctions occur once every three months. The next is scheduled for November 3rd."
"And the train tickets?" Raven asked.
"Departure from Giaris today. Arrival in Bloodstone City on the 14th, staying until the 16th morning. The black-market auction is on the 15th, giving ample preparation time." Emanuel handed the final document.
"This contains information about the official Wizard auction house in the Royal Capital. Participation requires registration with the Wizards Guild, the 'Crows Misery' Academic-affiliated organization for all Wizards in the Empire. More details can be gathered after registration."
Raven stored the documents in his inventory, eyes narrowing. Even if I attend, I lack the funds to purchase anything yet.
Shaking his head, he descended the staircase with Emanuel, breakfasted quickly, and prepared to leave. Outside, three attendants waited: a thirty-year-old maid, a tall middle-aged man, and a young woman, each holding luggage neatly arranged beside the carriage.
"Everything is ready, My Lord. Departure at 10:45 A.M.," Emanuel handed him four tickets.
Raven stored them in his inventory. "Take care of the mansion until our return."
He nodded at the others. "Let's go."
Jacob, Selene, and Stephanie followed. The carriage lurched forward, leaving Bristol Street, passing Salford Borough, and veering southward.
An hour later, the carriage stopped before Azmar Railway Station. Raven lifted the curtain, eyes drinking in the scene.
The station rose grandly, iron-and-glass canopies stretching over platforms, shielding passengers from fog and dust. Red-brick walls were adorned with intricate carvings; sunlight streamed through arched windows, illuminating the polished interior. Porters hustled with heavy trunks. Steam hissed, coal smoke lingered, and the chatter of passengers mingled with the metallic clatter of wheels.
"What does Azmar mean?" Raven asked.
"Named after the Azmar Woods to the east, My Lord," Jacob replied. "The previous count sourced wood and minerals from there. Your town shares the name due to its proximity."
Raven nodded, taking in every detail—the high vaulted ceilings, chandeliers casting warm light, marble floors reflecting bustling travelers.
"How long will we stay in the capital?" Stephanie asked, eyes tracing the ornate station walls.
"The distance from Giaris to Red Ember City is roughly 4,000 kilometers," Raven explained, leading the way toward ticket verification. "Six days by train, but we'll stop in Bloodstone City for two days. I plan to visit Hillcrow Woodlands during that stay. We should reach the capital by the 19th. Duration there depends on circumstances."
Tickets in hand, Raven ushered them toward the platform. Steam locomotives gleamed under the morning sun, wheels poised for the journey ahead. They boarded the reserved compartment, plush seats welcoming them.
The whistle blew, and the train slowly gained speed, carrying them through rolling fields. Raven leaned back, closing his eyes. "I'll meditate most of the time. Do not disturb unless an emergency arises, Mr. Jacob."
Jacob's hand rested on the compartment door. "No one will approach, My Lord. Rest assured."
Raven sank into his seat, entering the memory library.
For three days, he immersed himself in the Basic Rune Language, sharpening spearmanship in the illusion world between sessions. By the night of the 13th, he had memorized the basic runes.
Is it time to create the Elemental Circlet Technique?
[Not yet. Wait until Bloodstone City. Engraving the Elemental Circlet Array in your Mind Space must be done quietly.]
"Mind Space?" Raven frowned.
[It's a space connecting your soul, body, and consciousness. Yours is unique—merged in a way that opened a path to your sea of consciousness.]
"I don't understand."
[You'll comprehend once you create your Elemental Circlet Array. For now, experience my owner's memories—his past life.]
"Runeth's memories? Will I learn a new skill?"
[No. He was an Ancient Wizard, later a Dual-Class Mystic. Main class: Historian. Subclass: Artisan. His knowledge of Ancient Wizardry, Rune Study, and Artisan craft is stored in the memory library.]
Raven blinked. "Two classes?"
[Yes. You must master Runology, too. With it, you can disguise yourself as a Wizard while keeping your Warlock-Alchemist identity intact.]
Raven's mind reeled. 'Preparations for my aunt… proving her innocence…'
[Exactly. Royalty will resist acknowledging your claim. Using Thomas Holmes as a Runology Wizard creates separation between identities, avoiding suspicion.]
Raven nodded, comprehension dawning. He approached a shelf labeled Runology, pausing before a book titled Basics of Runes. An invisible force barred him from opening it.
[Let me help.] Zera pushed the book against his chest. It dissolved into an illusion and entered him.
Suddenly, his vision blurred. Memories flooded in: a child struggling with rune inscriptions, painstakingly creating array circles, speaking in a strange tongue. Raven felt each moment as if it were his own. Time slowed.
Thirty minutes passed in silence, Raven absorbing the full weight of Runeth's childhood trials.
Without the Basic Rune Language, I'd have understood nothing.
[Exactly why you learned it first. You could have mastered Easica Language too, but there's never enough time.]
Raven shook his head and moved to the next book: Creation of Magic Arrays. Two more tomes later, he turned to the spellbook shelves.
"Which spellbooks are suitable for Selene?" he asked.
[Dream Walk, Dream Harvest, and Alter Dream. She must internalize these before reaching the Royal Capital.]
Raven's eyes narrowed. Nodding, he began memorizing and transcribing the spell models meticulously, preparing Selene for the trials ahead.
…
14th September, Rune Era 1420
Bloodstone City, Territory of Thornevale
The rhythmic churning of metal wheels slowed as the train hissed into the station, releasing clouds of white steam that curled into the dusky air. The scent of coal, oil, and damp stone mingled in the wind — the unmistakable breath of Bloodstone City.
Beyond the platforms stretched a city forged between rolling hills and shadowed forests, its veins pulsing with iron and machinery. Brick buildings rose shoulder to shoulder, blackened chimneys exhaling ribbons of smoke into the gray sky. On the eastern horizon, the smoke thickened over clusters of factories, muting the sunlight and tinting everything in shades of copper and soot.
As the whistle faded, Raven stepped down first, followed by Stephane and Selene. Behind them, Jacob carried their luggage with his usual mechanical grace, his voice cutting through the hum of the crowd.
"This city acted as a fortress before the age of wizards," he said, his tone respectful but lined with quiet pride. "For centuries, it was the last defensive wall against monsters and magical beasts from the Great Hillcrow Woodlands. But with the rise of machinery and Aether weapons, Bloodstone grew stronger — untouchable even during the beast tides."
Raven's eyes wandered toward the forest line visible beyond the city's smoke-veiled walls. "And the beasts?" he asked.
Jacob gave a brief shrug as he led them through the crowd. "Driven deeper into the Woodlands. These days, only Rank-1 or Rank-2 Magical Beasts wander close. Even those appear rarely. Most are hunted before they reach the outer gates."
Raven studied the people moving past them — Walkers with swords slung across their backs, traders shouting prices, guards in navy armor clutching rifles etched with faint blue runes. "Still," he murmured, "this city draws many Walkers."
"That's to be expected, my lord," Jacob replied. "The hunted became the hunters. In the old days, even a Rank-3 Walker needed ten companions to slay a beast of equal strength. But Aether Equipment changed the rules." He tapped the long rifle strapped across his back. "Now, one Walker can wound what once took a squad. Add a few Warlocks for support — it's victory."
The words carried quiet awe, though a trace of caution lingered beneath.
"Improvements in medicine helped too," Jacob continued. "Modern potions made recovery faster. No longer do Walkers die of infection or poison days after battle."
The four of them exited the platform and crossed into the station's grand hall. Iron beams arched above, lined with dull gas lamps that flickered against the rising smoke. The floor, paved with black marble, reflected the chaos of movement — soldiers, merchants, and scholars brushing past each other like rushing tides.
Jacob lowered his voice, leaning closer. "This city is ruled by Margrave Lucus Thornevale. His household — the Thornevale Family — is one of the Twelve Ancient Families of the Empire. Old as the Empire itself. They're famed beast tamers. Men and women who sign contracts with magical creatures, binding them through ancient rites to share power in battle."
The mention stirred something in Raven's mind — a flicker of recognition. Reece, too, had tamed beasts.
"Is Reece one of them?" Raven asked. "From Thornevale's main line?"
Jacob smiled faintly. "No, my lord. Reece was once an external recruit. He joined the Thornevale family's ranks three decades ago, but his progress stalled. They expelled him before he could rise further. Later, he joined the Red Sepoy Corps under my command as a common foot soldier."
"External recruit…" Raven repeated softly. "So the Thornevale Family accepts commoners?"
Jacob's laugh was quiet and hollow. "No noble bloodline truly welcomes commoners, my lord. External recruits are… tools. Chosen from Knight Training Schools, raised, and tested for years — sometimes decades. A few pass the trials and become internal recruits, receiving support, titles, and resources. But even then, they rarely touch true nobility."
They stepped outside the station, the noise dimming behind them. The afternoon sun, veiled by smog, cast a dull bronze glow over the cobblestones. Carriages rattled past, pulled by black-maned horses with metallic bridles.
"Tell me more," Raven said as they walked toward the carriage house. "About how noble families work — and about these twelve families. I've heard of them, but never studied the structure."
Jacob's gaze sharpened as they neared an elderly coachman waiting beside a four-wheeled carriage. He exchanged a few quiet words, then opened the door for the group.
"Go to the Merchant Borough," he told the driver, then entered and shut the door behind them.
The carriage lurched into motion. The rhythmic clatter of wheels filled the silence as Jacob drew the curtains and locked the door.
"Each Noble Family," he began, "seeks talented children from the common class. External recruits — students who show promise. They're trained for ten or fifteen years, sometimes longer. Tested through duels, missions, and examinations. Those who excel become internal recruits, chosen heirs to the family's honor. The rest… disappear quietly."
He looked out the small window, the streets blurring past. "If an internal recruit performs miracles — achieves something legendary — the family might grant knighthood. Rarely, a baronetcy. But that's it. They never mix bloodlines."
Raven listened in silence.
Jacob continued, voice steady. "Noble blood is preserved through sons. A knight who earns a baron's title elevates his entire family — his wife, parents, even grandparents become noble. But when daughters marry into other lines, their titles vanish. They become commoners again. Sons, however, retain their blood status, even if they aren't heirs. Over generations, the branches multiply. The Thornevale Family, for instance, has over a hundred branch families."
Raven leaned back, processing the scale.
"Even a poor branch family," Jacob said, "owns more wealth than all of us combined, my lord."
Raven's lips curved faintly. The truth weighed heavier than he expected.
He had wealth — the remnants of the Holmes estate — but compared to this, it was nothing. For all his cunning, he was still an outsider staring up at an ancient tower that touched the clouds.
[Wealth is not in gold or land, lad,] Zera's voice murmured, faint and steady in his mind. [True wealth lies in knowledge. Use what's hidden in your Memory Library — and you can buy and destroy ten such families in time.]
Raven's eyes flickered with thought before he gestured for Jacob to continue.
Jacob adjusted his gloves and spoke, his tone lower now, like a storyteller revealing forbidden truths.
"The Empire's twelve ancient families… They are the pillars that uphold the Emperor's throne."
He began with two names spoken in reverence.
"Maddis and Gravestone. The two Archducal Houses."
"The Maddis family," Jacob said, "are masters of swordsmanship and the owners of the Western Bank. Their knight order — the Golden Regime — is unmatched. They are the Empire's blade, its pride."
He paused before lowering his tone. "The Gravestones… are its shadow. Cold and silent. They move through the Empire's affairs unseen, weaving strings of influence and deceit. They are masters of Dark and Illusion Magic — the most secretive of all the twelve."
Raven's gaze deepened.
"Next," Jacob continued, "come the four Ducal Houses — Warfield, Heart, Arcturus, and Raynor."
"Warfield holds the Crimson Fortress. They are the Empire's shield — loyal, honorable, unyielding. Knights and warriors form their backbone, though they sometimes produce Fire-affinity wizards."
"The Heart family…" Jacob hesitated. "They're different. Isolated. They stay clear of politics. They believe in pure martial strength. Fist techniques — ancient and brutal. Some call them the Pugilists of the Empire."
"That explains Leona," Raven murmured, his tone light but thoughtful.
Jacob nodded. "The Arcturus family commands the cavalry — the 'Iron Cavalry.' They train the Empire's finest horsemen and spearmen. When their banners rise, even monsters scatter."
His tone darkened for the last name. "And then… the Raynor family. They are necromancers. Forbidden arts flow in their blood. The Empire permits their practices — barely — under the condition that they summon only beasts, not humans. They're despised by the masses but feared for their power. Some say the Imperial Family keeps them close as a weapon, a last resort."
Raven frowned slightly. "The Empire allows necromancy?"
Jacob shook his head. "Only in moderation. The Crows' Misery Academy houses many of them, under surveillance. But yes — the practice continues."
[Different world, different order,] Zera whispered, her tone calm. [There are no divine powers here, no heavens to judge. To them, necromancy is merely another branch of Wizardry.]
The carriage turned sharply, wheels bumping over uneven stones.
Jacob went on. "The remaining six are Margrave families — Harrowmont, Ravenshield, Thornevale, Sterlinghart, Blackwater, and Findlay."
"The Harrowmonts," he said, "specialize in assassination and intrigue. Masters of manipulation and chaos. They once ruled a small kingdom before being absorbed into the Empire after the Stonelake War. Their loyalty lies in profit."
"Ravenshield," he continued, "is a family of alchemists and potion masters. Half the army's potions come from their workshops. Brilliant minds — and dangerously eccentric."
He allowed himself a thin smile. "Thornevale, as I said, are beast tamers. The Sterlingharts — archers and rune craftsmen. They supply nearly twenty percent of the Empire's total artifact production each year."
"Blackwater," his voice grew quieter, "deals in poison and espionage. They're assassins, spies, alchemists of death. Their concoctions can kill a man before he feels the blade."
"And finally," Jacob exhaled, "Findlay Household. The youngest of them all."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering to a reverent whisper.
"It began with a forbidden love — a female wizard and a slum-born boy. The Wizard Alliance cast her out. Yet, after her exile, her strength surged. She bore a child, and her magic grew tenfold. Within a century, she reached Rank-5. Within two, she ascended to Legend."
He looked up at Raven, his eyes glinting faintly. "They call her the Ice Princess — the founder of House Findlay."
The carriage rolled to a stop. Outside, the lamps of the Merchant Borough flickered, their light painting the cobblestone streets gold and gray.
For a long moment, Raven said nothing. The twelve names hung in the air — heavy, ancient, and sharp as blades.
He finally drew a slow breath.
Twelve houses. Twelve roots that fed the Empire's endless hunger for power.