As all four of them walked further down the connected corridor of the training grounds, Lord Osric continued narrating the tale, "In the early years of its discovery, the royal court overruled Her Majesty's precautions and pumped hundreds of soldiers full of the old blood,"
His eyes seemed to darken with the memory, his voice growing more intense. "The common foot soldier became better than the enemies' generals while the commanders became war gods—conquering one city after another. No matter the tactics, weaponry, or charms, no one withstood their might. After all, what could one do about men who could dodge a bullet with just their reflexes or crush bones into powder with a single hit?"
Glancing at an old portrait that seemed to illustrate a battle, Lord Osric shook his head slightly in a mix of awe and regret. "Villages, Counties, Cities, kingdoms, everything became a footnote as soldiers of old blood conquered whatever came in their path."
But then he paused for a while before speaking, "Until one day. The day when the royal court couldn't contain their greed anymore. The day they decided to make battalions of blooded soldiers."
There was a noticeable shift in his demeanor, his voice turning graver. "All it took was a single man. No one knows why, but when the blood was injected into one certain soldier, it mutated. And then began the hell."
"Everyone that came in contact with that soldier lost control of their blood, and before anything knew it, the city of Arisa, the second largest in the empire, became a land of death. Mutated abominations drunk on the blood roamed the city, and we barely had a solution."
When Lord Osric didn't continue right away and looked forward with complex emotion, Vern asked, intrigued, "How did you manage to bring an end to something like that? If a whole city was infected, did…"
Mistress Amelia was the one who replied without a hint of emotion in her voice, "Yes. We killed them and burned down the whole city."
A shudder went down his spine. Simply imagining the horror of such a thing made his gut churn.
With a sigh, Lord Osric interjected, "It wasn't that simple. When the infection first spread in Arisa, the royal court couldn't handle it, so they went back to the Empress for counsel. Some blamed her, some begged her, but as always, she managed to come up with a way forward."
Then, he pointed at Vern and continued, "That's where your kind came in. Fundamentalists used to be considered even greater heretics than us users of Old Blood back then, but Milady Empress invited them in, and gave them a chance."
"In a mere few months, they came up with a cure. However, it wasn't much of an option for Arisa because there was never enough to go around for ourselves, much less for a city full of people."
Then his eyes gleamed sharply, "But their next discovery was what turned the tide. They developed a more systematic approach to exploiting and infusing the old blood, called Bloodborne Subjugation Art."
"It minimized the risks posed by the old Blood while allowing one to acclimate to its power slowly. It was named as such to signify the subjugation of the inherent bloodborne disease in the Old blood."
Both the Kingsmen halted in front of an array of rooms, and Lord Osric said, "That's when Empress handed down the old blood and its infusion technique to a group of trusted individuals, and Kings' parity court was established. "
"This court was forged from enigmatic figures and individuals beyond the control of the Royal Court's nobles. The Empress imposed stringent criteria for membership in the Kings' parity Court, decisively excluding nobility from ever joining its ranks, including the royal blood."
A light of realization illuminated Vern’s mind. This was why Kingsmen didn't want the nobles. He finally got a proper answer to the question he’d asked Captain Shinsei not long ago.
It was evident that reading up Kingsmen's history was no longer necessary. The books couldn't possibly contain accounts of such heretical events, especially not with such meticulous detail.
Lord Osric continued his tale, "The Court exists to overrule the Emperor or nobility's excessive use of old blood if deemed necessary. However, we have to listen to his order otherwise."
He shook his head, "Anyways. Ever since then, Kingsmen have acted as sword and shield of the Empire, and now that the threats have evolved so…radically, we need to step up, too."
Lucian seemed to have turned into a yes-man and nodded at Lord Osric's every word, but Vern wanted to understand the dynamics better. So he asked, "No offense, my lord, but why not become an Observer yourselves?"
The leather-garbed man chuckled at the question and answered, "We tried. A lot of us tried. But any…what do you call those things?"
"Observation Records," Vern suggested.
"Yes, those. They're just…too different from our usual mindset. I obviously haven’t given up yet, but your Vigil's leader told me that the older a person is, the more challenging it becomes for them to achieve enlightenment. That because my life's viewpoint and ideology have solidified, it is difficult for me to adapt to the radical ideas suggested by those records."
More gears clicked into Vern’s mind, and he understood a lot of occurrences he'd passed up as coincidence up until now. This was the reason all those candidates above the tower were mostly late teens to mid-twenties, like himself.
Too young, and it's hard to form a viewpoint. Too old, and it’s hard to adapt. An interesting Balance.
"But apparently, it's worse for us Kingsmen. All of us have led a very…bloody life and were trained to see life from a very specific…perspective. None of those records or whatever are a good match. So, either we find something that fits our particular ideology or do what we're doing right now. Train some new blood that can do both."
Vern nodded and thanked the man for answering. He now had a worry of his own. He didn't have an Observation Record either. How far could he go without the guidance of one?
After a deep breath, lord Osric gestured towards one of the rooms with a tilt of his head, and Lucian moved towards it instantly. Now that Vern looked around, these were all personal training rooms.
Mistress Amelia walked towards an opposite room herself, and Vern made to follow without hesitation. That's when he heard a final remark from Lord Osric, who stood beyond his room's door, "Remember, young one. The blood makes us human, makes us more than human, makes us human no more."
THUMP
And with that, he closed it. Mistress Amelia, who had halted for a second, resumed her steps and entered their training room. Vern followed her in, but his mind was still stuck on that phrase.
Human, more than human, human no more.
.
.
.
The interior was more functional than form. Weapons hung on the wall, fastened with mechanical latches, while training dummies, pads, and other equipment filled the rest of it.
His eyes, however, were drawn straight to a golden case sitting on the table at the far end of the room. It was a little too long. However, before he could scrutinize it further, Mistress Amelia stood square and faced him.
He gave up his random curiosity, and his brain remembered to suddenly turn anxious. His heart filled with apprehension, coming in all parts from his little to no experience with combat training.
Five days of home exercises were nothing but a drop in the ocean. The only reason he wasn't sweating buckets from tension right now was the inherent changes that happened to his body after shading his perception.
They were nothing to write home about, but they were…convenient. Breathing, eating, drinking, all these urges had become less frequent while his body had become more vigorous. His eyesight was better, he didn't get exhausted as quickly, and he felt more active.
He had conjectures as to why this was happening, but he didn't bother thinking too much about it because he was sure that this was a common side-effect and that Vigil's library—or actually, Vena's archive would have an answer to that.
So, with a deep breath, he looked into Mistress' eyes and awaited instructions. After scrutinizing him for a short while, she began, "What are your expectations for yourself, Vern?"
A simple question. And she was nice about it, too. He answered earnestly, "To become a fighter that can hold his own against any kind of opponent and won't be held back by his lacking physical prowess."
Mistress nodded and pulled out a small silver case from her pocket. She opened it and presented it to Vern, who accepted it, focusing on its contents. It had a metallic syringe and brassy vial filled with red fluid.
Maybe the vial suppressed that dizzying effect, but Vern knew exactly what it was. The Old Blood. After that conversation, he had expected to encounter it sooner or later, but not immediately.
"This is the first infusion of Bloodborne Subjugation Art," she said, and an excited gleam appeared in his eyes. This blood could allow him to become a better fighter than he ever was. His body which was a bottleneck right now, would become his most deadly aspect.
But he recalled the fluid's origin and ruthlessly quashed any dangerous ideas. This was something that turned men into unparalleled warriors even before Objectivity was shattered. This wasn't a simple thing. How could infusing some unknown species' blood ever be safe?
His apprehension soon turned into full-blown paranoia.
Was that why the other Kingsmen had told them the story? To trick him into readily accepting it as safe? So Vern would feel the pressure and do their bidding as an Observer? Would she refuse to teach him if he disagreed to make use of this?
But his skeptical musings were cut short as Mistress elaborated, "Now, you have a choice. Since you don't plan on walking far down the path of a melee combatant, you don't really need to follow the Bloodborne Subjugation art to achieve your goals."
Vern furrowed his brows. If his suspicions were real, why would she give him a choice? Was she saying he had to pick either training under her and using the blood or losing the opportunity? Hesitant in his own conclusions, he asked, "So, would I have to leave if I…choose not to infuse the blood?"
She shook her head from side to side, her hat following suit, "As long as you fight for the city, I don't really mind. I will just have to find another candidate to train alongside you because our end goal is to nurture an Observer that has the physical capabilities of a Kingsman."
Vern stared at Mistress, dumbfounded. Was she saying he could choose not to take on a Kingsman's responsibilities but still learn from one? Had he been too mistrustful of Kingsmen?
Maybe noticing his confusion, she elaborated, "Prince Akira asked me to train you before the Parity Court and Vigil even concocted this plan. So if you decide not to use the blood in the end, just keep the discussion we've had today to yourself and return the infusion kit."
She unlatched her scythe and deposited her equipment on a table. Soon, Vern found another point of doubt and followed up, "But didn't Lord Osric mention that Kingsly Court already expects a lot from me and Lucian?"
Taking off her hat, she replied without turning towards him, "Yes. But Old blood is not something I'll force upon anyone, no matter the circumstances. As much as it's a blessing, it's a curse, too."
Her head full of blonde hair, which merged into a neat ponytail at her back, came in his full view, and she glanced back, an air of profound solemnity oozing from her every word, "Old blood can become an addiction. A vice that's near impossible to resist if one revels in it."
She paused an unexplainable emotion in her voice, "Every year, we have to put down ten or so court members because they let the thirst consume them. And that's after the Blood Fundamentalists have refined the subjugation art for decades."
Vern had never heard of such an occurrence before, but this was indeed more in line with what he expected from some mysterious blood. This triggered his curiosity, "What happens if they get addicted?"
She turned around, leaned on the table, and folded her arms before replying, "They get drunk on it. The old blood amplifies not just one's strengths but also one's instincts, and without control, one risks becoming a slave to their baser impulses. So they must be put down before they tear through the civilians to sate their thirst."
Vern wiped the sweat off his face. He was standing in close proximity of one such person. If she were to be drunk on blood, he wouldn't have the slimmest chance of coming out of this alive. He remembered watching her fight on that bridge, and the coldness and detachedness with which she harvested those lives was still vividly etched in his memories.
He was no match.
Luckily, he seemed to be in good hands. If so many Kingsmen got addicted every year, and she survived ever since the plague of Arisa, surely she wouldn't lose herself to the urges now.
However, this information helped him relax quite a lot. This blood wasn't some sweet honey trap with incomprehensible repercussions down the line. It was a balanced system with its own benefits and drawbacks.
He even felt foolish about his recent thoughts. Why the hell would two powerful Kingsmen bother lying to him?
As he chided himself for his unbalanced response to the situation, Mistress examined him intently and spoke up, "However, if you have faith in your self-control, its benefits are just as immense. It acts as a catalyst for your body's innate capabilities. It heightens your physical attributes to levels beyond normal human capacity. Your strength, agility, reflexes, and even your body's healing capabilities will be significantly enhanced."
"Muscles become more robust and responsive, and your senses sharpen, allowing you to perceive threats and react quicker. It's like every part of you is awakened, fine-tuned for combat and survival. It essentially makes you into one of the most potent weapons known to mankind. At least, that was the case until Observers resurfaced."
This point intrigued him greatly, so he asked, "No offense, Mistress, but how do you think Kingsmen would fare against Observers? Given the wide scope of Visions that Observers have at their disposal, is old Blood really enough to level the playing field?"
At the mention, her eyes curved like the crescent moon, and a chilling aura swept through the room. "You think they will make us obsolete?" A smile formed under that face cover as she tipped her chin and declared, "I'd like to see them try."
A cold, numbing terror gripped him, and his heart stopped instantly.
As all four of them walked further down the connected corridor of the training grounds, Lord Osric continued narrating the tale, "In the early years of its discovery, the royal court overruled Her Majesty's precautions and pumped hundreds of soldiers full of the old blood,"
His eyes seemed to darken with the memory, his voice growing more intense. "The common foot soldier became better than the enemies' generals while the commanders became war gods—conquering one city after another. No matter the tactics, weaponry, or charms, no one withstood their might. After all, what could one do about men who could dodge a bullet with just their reflexes or crush bones into powder with a single hit?"
Glancing at an old portrait that seemed to illustrate a battle, Lord Osric shook his head slightly in a mix of awe and regret. "Villages, Counties, Cities, kingdoms, everything became a footnote as soldiers of old blood conquered whatever came in their path."
But then he paused for a while before speaking, "Until one day. The day when the royal court couldn't contain their greed anymore. The day they decided to make battalions of blooded soldiers."
There was a noticeable shift in his demeanor, his voice turning graver. "All it took was a single man. No one knows why, but when the blood was injected into one certain soldier, it mutated. And then began the hell."
"Everyone that came in contact with that soldier lost control of their blood, and before anything knew it, the city of Arisa, the second largest in the empire, became a land of death. Mutated abominations drunk on the blood roamed the city, and we barely had a solution."
When Lord Osric didn't continue right away and looked forward with complex emotion, Vern asked, intrigued, "How did you manage to bring an end to something like that? If a whole city was infected, did…"
Mistress Amelia was the one who replied without a hint of emotion in her voice, "Yes. We killed them and burned down the whole city."
A shudder went down his spine. Simply imagining the horror of such a thing made his gut churn.
With a sigh, Lord Osric interjected, "It wasn't that simple. When the infection first spread in Arisa, the royal court couldn't handle it, so they went back to the Empress for counsel. Some blamed her, some begged her, but as always, she managed to come up with a way forward."
Then, he pointed at Vern and continued, "That's where your kind came in. Fundamentalists used to be considered even greater heretics than us users of Old Blood back then, but Milady Empress invited them in, and gave them a chance."
"In a mere few months, they came up with a cure. However, it wasn't much of an option for Arisa because there was never enough to go around for ourselves, much less for a city full of people."
Then his eyes gleamed sharply, "But their next discovery was what turned the tide. They developed a more systematic approach to exploiting and infusing the old blood, called Bloodborne Subjugation Art."
"It minimized the risks posed by the old Blood while allowing one to acclimate to its power slowly. It was named as such to signify the subjugation of the inherent bloodborne disease in the Old blood."
Both the Kingsmen halted in front of an array of rooms, and Lord Osric said, "That's when Empress handed down the old blood and its infusion technique to a group of trusted individuals, and Kings' parity court was established. "
"This court was forged from enigmatic figures and individuals beyond the control of the Royal Court's nobles. The Empress imposed stringent criteria for membership in the Kings' parity Court, decisively excluding nobility from ever joining its ranks, including the royal blood."
A light of realization illuminated Vern’s mind. This was why Kingsmen didn't want the nobles. He finally got a proper answer to the question he’d asked Captain Shinsei not long ago.
It was evident that reading up Kingsmen's history was no longer necessary. The books couldn't possibly contain accounts of such heretical events, especially not with such meticulous detail.
Lord Osric continued his tale, "The Court exists to overrule the Emperor or nobility's excessive use of old blood if deemed necessary. However, we have to listen to his order otherwise."
He shook his head, "Anyways. Ever since then, Kingsmen have acted as sword and shield of the Empire, and now that the threats have evolved so…radically, we need to step up, too."
Lucian seemed to have turned into a yes-man and nodded at Lord Osric's every word, but Vern wanted to understand the dynamics better. So he asked, "No offense, my lord, but why not become an Observer yourselves?"
The leather-garbed man chuckled at the question and answered, "We tried. A lot of us tried. But any…what do you call those things?"
"Observation Records," Vern suggested.
"Yes, those. They're just…too different from our usual mindset. I obviously haven’t given up yet, but your Vigil's leader told me that the older a person is, the more challenging it becomes for them to achieve enlightenment. That because my life's viewpoint and ideology have solidified, it is difficult for me to adapt to the radical ideas suggested by those records."
More gears clicked into Vern’s mind, and he understood a lot of occurrences he'd passed up as coincidence up until now. This was the reason all those candidates above the tower were mostly late teens to mid-twenties, like himself.
Too young, and it's hard to form a viewpoint. Too old, and it’s hard to adapt. An interesting Balance.
"But apparently, it's worse for us Kingsmen. All of us have led a very…bloody life and were trained to see life from a very specific…perspective. None of those records or whatever are a good match. So, either we find something that fits our particular ideology or do what we're doing right now. Train some new blood that can do both."
Vern nodded and thanked the man for answering. He now had a worry of his own. He didn't have an Observation Record either. How far could he go without the guidance of one?
After a deep breath, lord Osric gestured towards one of the rooms with a tilt of his head, and Lucian moved towards it instantly. Now that Vern looked around, these were all personal training rooms.
Mistress Amelia walked towards an opposite room herself, and Vern made to follow without hesitation. That's when he heard a final remark from Lord Osric, who stood beyond his room's door, "Remember, young one. The blood makes us human, makes us more than human, makes us human no more."
THUMP
And with that, he closed it. Mistress Amelia, who had halted for a second, resumed her steps and entered their training room. Vern followed her in, but his mind was still stuck on that phrase.
Human, more than human, human no more.
.
.
.
The interior was more functional than form. Weapons hung on the wall, fastened with mechanical latches, while training dummies, pads, and other equipment filled the rest of it.
His eyes, however, were drawn straight to a golden case sitting on the table at the far end of the room. It was a little too long. However, before he could scrutinize it further, Mistress Amelia stood square and faced him.
He gave up his random curiosity, and his brain remembered to suddenly turn anxious. His heart filled with apprehension, coming in all parts from his little to no experience with combat training.
Five days of home exercises were nothing but a drop in the ocean. The only reason he wasn't sweating buckets from tension right now was the inherent changes that happened to his body after shading his perception.
They were nothing to write home about, but they were…convenient. Breathing, eating, drinking, all these urges had become less frequent while his body had become more vigorous. His eyesight was better, he didn't get exhausted as quickly, and he felt more active.
He had conjectures as to why this was happening, but he didn't bother thinking too much about it because he was sure that this was a common side-effect and that Vigil's library—or actually, Vena's archive would have an answer to that.
So, with a deep breath, he looked into Mistress' eyes and awaited instructions. After scrutinizing him for a short while, she began, "What are your expectations for yourself, Vern?"
A simple question. And she was nice about it, too. He answered earnestly, "To become a fighter that can hold his own against any kind of opponent and won't be held back by his lacking physical prowess."
Mistress nodded and pulled out a small silver case from her pocket. She opened it and presented it to Vern, who accepted it, focusing on its contents. It had a metallic syringe and brassy vial filled with red fluid.
Maybe the vial suppressed that dizzying effect, but Vern knew exactly what it was. The Old Blood. After that conversation, he had expected to encounter it sooner or later, but not immediately.
"This is the first infusion of Bloodborne Subjugation Art," she said, and an excited gleam appeared in his eyes. This blood could allow him to become a better fighter than he ever was. His body which was a bottleneck right now, would become his most deadly aspect.
But he recalled the fluid's origin and ruthlessly quashed any dangerous ideas. This was something that turned men into unparalleled warriors even before Objectivity was shattered. This wasn't a simple thing. How could infusing some unknown species' blood ever be safe?
His apprehension soon turned into full-blown paranoia.
Was that why the other Kingsmen had told them the story? To trick him into readily accepting it as safe? So Vern would feel the pressure and do their bidding as an Observer? Would she refuse to teach him if he disagreed to make use of this?
But his skeptical musings were cut short as Mistress elaborated, "Now, you have a choice. Since you don't plan on walking far down the path of a melee combatant, you don't really need to follow the Bloodborne Subjugation art to achieve your goals."
Vern furrowed his brows. If his suspicions were real, why would she give him a choice? Was she saying he had to pick either training under her and using the blood or losing the opportunity? Hesitant in his own conclusions, he asked, "So, would I have to leave if I…choose not to infuse the blood?"
She shook her head from side to side, her hat following suit, "As long as you fight for the city, I don't really mind. I will just have to find another candidate to train alongside you because our end goal is to nurture an Observer that has the physical capabilities of a Kingsman."
Vern stared at Mistress, dumbfounded. Was she saying he could choose not to take on a Kingsman's responsibilities but still learn from one? Had he been too mistrustful of Kingsmen?
Maybe noticing his confusion, she elaborated, "Prince Akira asked me to train you before the Parity Court and Vigil even concocted this plan. So if you decide not to use the blood in the end, just keep the discussion we've had today to yourself and return the infusion kit."
She unlatched her scythe and deposited her equipment on a table. Soon, Vern found another point of doubt and followed up, "But didn't Lord Osric mention that Kingsly Court already expects a lot from me and Lucian?"
Taking off her hat, she replied without turning towards him, "Yes. But Old blood is not something I'll force upon anyone, no matter the circumstances. As much as it's a blessing, it's a curse, too."
Her head full of blonde hair, which merged into a neat ponytail at her back, came in his full view, and she glanced back, an air of profound solemnity oozing from her every word, "Old blood can become an addiction. A vice that's near impossible to resist if one revels in it."
She paused an unexplainable emotion in her voice, "Every year, we have to put down ten or so court members because they let the thirst consume them. And that's after the Blood Fundamentalists have refined the subjugation art for decades."
Vern had never heard of such an occurrence before, but this was indeed more in line with what he expected from some mysterious blood. This triggered his curiosity, "What happens if they get addicted?"
She turned around, leaned on the table, and folded her arms before replying, "They get drunk on it. The old blood amplifies not just one's strengths but also one's instincts, and without control, one risks becoming a slave to their baser impulses. So they must be put down before they tear through the civilians to sate their thirst."
Vern wiped the sweat off his face. He was standing in close proximity of one such person. If she were to be drunk on blood, he wouldn't have the slimmest chance of coming out of this alive. He remembered watching her fight on that bridge, and the coldness and detachedness with which she harvested those lives was still vividly etched in his memories.
He was no match.
Luckily, he seemed to be in good hands. If so many Kingsmen got addicted every year, and she survived ever since the plague of Arisa, surely she wouldn't lose herself to the urges now.
However, this information helped him relax quite a lot. This blood wasn't some sweet honey trap with incomprehensible repercussions down the line. It was a balanced system with its own benefits and drawbacks.
He even felt foolish about his recent thoughts. Why the hell would two powerful Kingsmen bother lying to him?
As he chided himself for his unbalanced response to the situation, Mistress examined him intently and spoke up, "However, if you have faith in your self-control, its benefits are just as immense. It acts as a catalyst for your body's innate capabilities. It heightens your physical attributes to levels beyond normal human capacity. Your strength, agility, reflexes, and even your body's healing capabilities will be significantly enhanced."
"Muscles become more robust and responsive, and your senses sharpen, allowing you to perceive threats and react quicker. It's like every part of you is awakened, fine-tuned for combat and survival. It essentially makes you into one of the most potent weapons known to mankind. At least, that was the case until Observers resurfaced."
This point intrigued him greatly, so he asked, "No offense, Mistress, but how do you think Kingsmen would fare against Observers? Given the wide scope of Visions that Observers have at their disposal, is old Blood really enough to level the playing field?"
At the mention, her eyes curved like the crescent moon, and a chilling aura swept through the room. "You think they will make us obsolete?" A smile formed under that face cover as she tipped her chin and declared, "I'd like to see them try."
A cold, numbing terror gripped him, and his heart stopped instantly.
