The glowing gem lit up the figure's outline—less a man, more a ghost.
From the eye sockets of the mask, blood seeped out. Beneath the wizard's robe, what held it up was neither bone nor flesh, but blood.
John stood there, facing the blood wraith in wizard's robes.
His eyes turned a pale gray as he foresaw the outcome of attacking.
"Physical attacks won't work?"
In his vision, even when he used a blasting charm, all he managed to do was fling away the creature's robes.
It was like water slipping through his fingers, impossible to grasp.
So John didn't strike. His left hand held his staff, his right gripped his sword.
"Who are you?" From their earlier exchange, John could tell this being possessed intelligence.
The blood wraith seemed surprised by John's patience. It was unlike the hot-headed witcher he expected.
"This tower was built by my ancestor, Dracula," the blood wraith said as he slowly advanced toward John. "And you, witcher, have trespassed into my tower."
When he was close enough, the blood wraith bared his fangs—no more pretense.
With a sudden explosion, his body burst apart, surging into a curtain of blood that rushed toward John.
Swoosh!
"As the price, you will pay with everything!"
The massive curtain of blood had the power to seep into every pore, to take over another's body—an evil thing.
But John had already foreseen this move.
The same trick would never work twice on a witcher.
And as a wizard, John approved.
He drove his staff into the ground. His pupils turned to vertical slits, and from his mouth came an ancient incantation.
||Fiendfyre!||
At the tip of his staff, flames gathered into a massive fireball and hurled into the blood curtain.
Like cold water poured over a searing iron plate, the blood hissed and sizzled into steam, accompanied by a piercing scream.
"No—!"
"How can you use magic?!"
The blood wraith cried out in terror. "You're not a witcher, you're a wizard!"
Never in his wildest imagination did he expect a witcher to suddenly unleash magic right before his eyes.
In his understanding, witchers relied on swords and various weapons.
And as a being immune to physical attacks, dealing with witchers should have been effortless.
Too bad for him, he ran into John, who never followed the usual path.
As a wizard, John wielded his staff, letting the flames burn ceaselessly until the blood wraith was roasted and evaporated.
The sight left John's uncles utterly speechless.
It was their first time seeing a blood wraith, but their witcher instincts told them one thing—To defeat such a creature, the price would have been devastating!
And most likely, they would have been killed.
Not because they lacked strength, but because they had encountered a natural counter to their kind.
The blood wraith was like water, immune to physical strikes.
Every attack a witcher relied on was useless against it.
But John didn't play by those rules—on the surface a witcher, yet secretly armed with magic.
That was the blood wraith's greatest downfall.
Underestimating an opponent leads to defeat.
To make sure the blood wraith was truly dead, John even burned its robes for good measure.
But beneath the table, a drop of blood slipped away, creeping toward the bookshelf.
"Impossible… I am a Blood Marquis. How could I die so easily?"
The blood let out a resentful growl. It had waited so long, and at last it had found a chance to escape.
To enter this place, it had sacrificed its body and sealed off its way back.
A witcher's body had given it hope of returning to its peak—but John's single fire curse had destroyed everything.
It refused to accept this. It was immortal. As long as it survived, once the wizard tower opened again, there would still be a chance.
With that thought, the Blood Marquis crept closer to the base of the bookshelf.
Using it as cover, he would finally be safe.
Survival was within reach—when a red-hot blade pierced straight into the drop of blood, cutting off every possibility of escape.
The searing heat evaporated it in an instant.
John withdrew his sword, thinking, This thing could still move even with just a single drop of blood… what on earth was it?
There was nothing in his knowledge that recorded such a creature. Perhaps it was a curse, something like a bloodborne curse.
When the blood evaporated, a streak of red light appeared out of thin air and sank into his blade.
The third rune lit up.
John froze. To him, aside from being a little strange, this thing had been finished off with just one fire spell. Maybe it was just some kind of "mini-boss."
The fact that the third rune lit up all at once meant this was at least a trial boss.
"Too weak," John muttered. He felt even Malfoy could have handled it easily.
The fifth floor that had lit up remained unaffected by the battle.
Its glowing patterns pulsed, guiding John in a certain direction.
"The staff, huh?" He sensed that everything was tied to the staff in his hand.
Following the light, the bookshelves parted to either side.
John ventured deeper, and a few of the books caught his attention.
"Hmm.. These are runes." He raised his hand and summoned one of the books.
Inside, runic script was recorded. More than that, as the shelves shifted, they formed into a great formation.
Runes were ancient symbols, so their appearance here wasn't surprising—but it did spark John's curiosity.
At the center stood a pedestal of crystal joined with black stone.
On it was a socket, shaped to fit the staff he carried.
Having reached this place, John naturally wouldn't just walk away.
He set the staff onto the pedestal and drew his wand, staying alert.
Once the staff was set into place, the crystal burst into light.
Beams from countless gems twisted together by some unseen force and streamed into the head of the staff.
At its head was a gray-white diamond-shaped stone. After absorbing the gems' energy, the stone projected a mark onto the floor.
The mark quickly shrank, transforming into a silver key-shaped necklace in the form of the number "8," floating in midair.
John used his wand to pull the key necklace down. As he did, the surrounding glow faded.
"What's this key for?"
As an alchemist, his first instinct was to examine it closely.
Within the key was a kind of unlocking magic. Unlike Alohomora, this was a protective enchantment.
"Something like the Fidelius Charm's Secret Keeper," he concluded, before slipping the key into his pocket.
The place being protected could only be found by using this key.
And if it warranted such heavy safeguards, chances were it held something valuable.
Pulling the staff free, John watched as the bookshelves shifted back into place.
The glowing traces on the floor confirmed his suspicion: this wizard tower was a massive magical amplifier.
Its exact purpose, though, could only be revealed once John traversed the entire tower.
He continued upward.
Reaching the sixth floor, he found himself in a garden, lush with greenery. Interwoven paths crisscrossed the space, forming a labyrinth.
After some time navigating it, John finally emerged and reached the seventh floor.
Here, a school was hidden.
Unlike Hogwarts, this place gave off a suffocating atmosphere, with everything perfectly uniform.
Several classrooms looked as if they'd been conjured by a Copying Spell—each one exactly the same.
The way up was concealed above a pool, in which lay the bodies of long-dead eels.
The eighth floor held countless star models, each glowing star drifting through the air, simulating the universe.
The room itself seemed as vast and boundless as the cosmos. John walked back and forth, yet found no entrance to the ninth floor.
He stopped—and footsteps echoed in his ears.
The instant they neared, he spun around and caught the dagger aimed at him.
"Heh~"
With a twist of his right hand, he wrenched the ornate blade away and pressed it to the attacker's throat.
Apparently unprepared for John's swift reaction, the intruder went rigid. On their long, pale neck, goosebumps rose under the cold touch of steel.
John fixed his gaze on the figure.
Her golden hair fell like silk; gray-blue eyes and pale skin.
After a short, startled breath, the woman fixed her gaze on John.
"Who are you? Why are you here? How did you get in?" Three questions in a row—she sounded furious.
John's expression went cold. "Those are the questions I should be asking. Who are you?"
Being the second person to appear in the wizard tower, John naturally wasn't going to let her slip by unexplored.
She wanted to retort, but the chill of steel at her throat made her relent. "I'm the owner here—Emily."
"Owner?" John eyed her skeptically.
His doubt stung Emily. She snapped, "It will be, sooner or later."
Emily noticed the sword on John's back and then the staff in his left hand; her face changed instantly.
"You pulled out the gray-crystal staff?" she barked. "You stupid marmot, you'll unleash the Black-Iron Blood Marquis!"
"If that happens, the whole city will be plunged into disaster."
Calling John a marmot set his face dark. Had she not realized their situation?
But Emily seemed to give up on subtlety. "Great—now that the Blood Marquis can find us, we'll die here. Where did you even come from, you reckless fool!"
John: (╬▔皿▔)
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