Section 42: Spellcasting

"What was that power you released yesterday?"

At sunset, Annan and the vampire sat with their knees drawn up on the porch of an abandoned house, gazing at clouds reddened by the last light.

"The web of shadows I used to catch you... invite you into the room?"

"No, the power you released when you screamed."

"That was the power of my bloodline..."

"Can you release it again?" Honesty was one of Annan's strengths. "You know I only just became a Sorcerer. Yesterday's collision made my Mana Vortex a little more active."

"I can, but I haven't been able to restore my strength from blood..."

"Livestock blood won't work?"

"It only restores a little of my stamina..."

For no apparent reason, Annan suddenly felt a chill. In an instant, the vampire who had just been complaining about the taste of livestock blood raked his nails toward Annan—and snatched an adult snake slithering up the steps toward Annan's arm.

Annan could only tell it was venomous by its slightly pointed head. The vampire deftly snapped its neck and tucked it into his clothes.

"I thought I'd save this snake for a midnight snack," he said when Annan stared at him.

"You saved me. Thank you."

Slats of light, just like yesterday's, fell into the room behind them. There was still time before the tavern opened, so Annan asked the vampire about his past—

"I think my old name was... Wood."

Wood said he had forgotten much of his past after becoming a vampire. He only remembered coming from the Southlands and being attacked by a vampire while out gathering firewood. After that, he had spent his days in a daze as a Blood Thrall, following a vampire lord into the Blood War. Then, one day, the vampire controlling him died, and Wood, finally free, began to wander.

Annan already knew about his later encounter with the Minotaur Tribe.

So Wood was not a true vampire.

Annan thought a bard would surely turn this into a tale called "The Wanderings of Wood the Vampire."

As opening time approached, Annan asked Wood what kind of blood he needed.

"Human blood would be best... Cow and sheep blood are about the same. Pig and chicken blood only fill my stomach. And the fresher, the better."

Dark clouds in the west swallowed the sunset, and lights came on in the houses along the street. Annan returned to the tavern, put on his apron, and went over to Mr. Fast.

He needed to find food for the vampire.

"Is there a hospital in town?"

"What's that?"

"A public place that treats sick people."

"You mean a Priest?"

Annan had mistakenly brought an assumption from Earth with him. For curing illness or injury, Priests were far more useful than doctors. Doctors here were more like witch doctors, mixing herbal remedies for poor people who had no money.

"Then where can I get fresh human blood?"

Faster frowned, stepped up to Annan, and pulled open his collar to inspect his neck.

"Did you run into a vampire?"

But with a raincloud approaching from the west, there were few customers tonight. No one paid attention to behavior that would usually have caused shrieks—except Evelyn, who covered her face and peeked through her fingers.

"No."

Even as Annan denied it, Faster spotted the unhealed wound on his wrist.

Faster's manner instantly turned sharp. He seized Annan's wrist. "Were you bitten?"

"...I let out the blood myself."

Faced with Faster's keen eye, Annan had no choice but to reveal Wood's existence.

"Vampires are dangerous."

Even though he had once belonged to the Secret Society, Faster remained wary of many evil creatures. He was also exasperated by Annan's habit of befriending other races.

Though if Faster were still a member of the Secret Society, he would certainly try every way he could to draw Annan into the organization.

"He doesn't want to hurt me."

Annan told Wood's story: how Wood could have killed him but had not, and how he had followed the Minotaur Tribe north simply to avoid starving to death...

"A vampire freed from his Blood Pact?"

Faster believed Annan—at least the part about Wood not hurting him.

Annan nodded. "I looked it up. Vampires freed from their Blood Pacts gradually regain their sense of self. Wood still has his memories, too."

The only difference between Wood and a human was that Wood fed on blood—unless the Bloodline Power of vampires corrupted him. But a vampire who had never killed anyone clearly had no reason to draw the Ancestor's attention.

"Do you need me to come with you tomorrow?"

"No. He's very timid... And I scared him by saying you knew a Vampire Hunter."

"I do know one."

"What are you talking about?" Martin came over.

Annan changed the subject. "How is your sword practice going?"

"Mr. Fast doesn't even dare face me head-on... Where's my sword?!"

Martin buzzed around the tavern like a fly until Evelyn reminded him that it had gone missing after he laid out the rain tarp last night.

Watching Martin rush out of the tavern, Annan asked in surprise, "Is Martin really that talented?"

"If you'd seen him come out of the latrine carrying that wooden sword, you wouldn't want it touching you either."

The patter of rain drifted into the tavern. Before long, Martin returned clutching his soaked wooden sword, prompting Faster to sigh, "What a lovely rain..."

At midnight, the rain still had not stopped. Annan borrowed a rain cape from Faster and went home with Martin.

But without the vampire's help, his meditation returned to its usual calm.

Annan's life was just as uneventful. With no hospital, he had no legitimate way to obtain human blood, while paying for it felt like something an evildoer would do—though the beggars would not mind.

And with only cow or sheep blood, Wood could release a faint trace of his Bloodline Power just once every three days.

The outline of Annan's Mana Vortex grew clearer and clearer. His first spell could not be far off.

Meanwhile, Annan kept talking with Wood, helping him recall more of his past and control his vampiric urges.

One day, Annan ran home with a small basin of sheep's blood he had bought.

"Aunt Susan, I'm borrowing the kitchen!"

Annan carried the sheep's blood into the kitchen, following what he remembered. He had wanted to share some with Aunt Susan, but untreated blood smelled far too strong.

Carrying the finished dish to the abandoned house, Annan found Wood waiting. "What's this?" Wood asked curiously.

"Blood Tofu."

Annan handed him a spoon and asked him to try it.

Wood spooned up a piece and put it in his mouth. The Blood Tofu dissolved, and his expression grew increasingly hard to describe. It was certainly not the face of someone enjoying good food.

"It feels strange... like drinking fat with spices in it... Ugh, I think I'm going to throw up."

Apparently, heating blood into food would not work.

They resumed colliding their Mana Vortexes. Then inspiration struck Annan: he felt ready to try casting a spell.

With Wood watching, Annan recalled the steps of the Lesser Summoning Spell. Magic Power surged from his vortex and took shape as a spell guided by his imagination:

A spatial rift from the Lesser Summoning Spell opened before him. Then a familiar figure emerged against a familiar backdrop.

Stepping out of the rift, Wood looked around in confusion. "Was that teleportation?"

"No..."

There was good news and bad news:

The good news was that Annan had learned to cast spells.

The bad news was that his spell was a little strange.