Beneath the Roundtable Hold.
This had originally been a place for storing old records, but it had now been temporarily cleared out.
Alberich leaned against the stone wall, gasping for breath.
His robe was soaked with sweat and clung to his skin. Where blood glintstone crystals had once fused with his flesh, only dark red scars remained, like wounds that had healed after being burned by intense heat.
Every breath burned.
But compared to before, he was already in a much better state.
As a seeker who had glimpsed the Primeval Current, the Errant True Magic User had noticed something.
He reminded his friend, "Blaidd, your chance has come..."
Blaidd, the White Wolf Warhound, stood in the center of the chamber. He looked toward Vyre, the "Errant True Magic User," who leaned in the corner, his gaze questioning beneath his helmet.
Vyre shook his head slightly, signaling his friend to be patient.
The room was quiet, with only Alberich's ragged breathing echoing between the stone walls.
His breathing gradually steadied.
Alberich slowly straightened up. He raised his hand and looked at the dark red scars on his arm. Beneath the skin where blood glintstone had once been embedded, something dark gold faintly flowed, as though something had been inscribed there.
He could feel a kind of "pressure."
It was an invisible sense of restraint, as though chains were wrapped around his soul, every link cold and solid.
But in exchange...
Alberich clenched his fist.
Power surged, and he could faintly sense the vitality contained within his body.
If I used this blood for a living sacrifice... no, I can't keep going. Alberich tried hard to turn his attention elsewhere.
My eyes. Right, there are still my eyes.
He could feel that his vision had changed: colors were more vivid, details