Blood God Reborn as the Mudblood Heir

He pushed Blood Absorption around it, not to eat it, but to trap it.

Brant screamed in pain.

Lysa sobbed but did not move.

Lucard pulled something.

More blood came out. The basin was filled with dark red liquid. Brant’s body shook violently. The thing inside him fought harder, but Lucard’s blood wrapped around it like a fist.

At last, something tore free and came out from the cut.

Lucard closed his hand immediately. A small wet object lay hidden inside his fist. It was covered in blood. He did not let anyone see it clearly.

Brant collapsed back onto the bed.

For a terrifying moment, he did not breathe.

Lysa cried out, "Fat... Father... ar... are you alright?"

Lucard placed two fingers against Brant’s neck and pushed clean blood energy into him. Brant coughed once, then breathed again. The color did not fully return to his face, but the strange tightness in his chest was gone. His breathing became rough but human.

Lucard took fresh cloth and pressed it over the cut.

"He will live."

Lysa fell to her knees beside the bed.

The old healer looked at Lucard as if he had seen a ghost wearing a doctor’s beard.

Brant opened his eyes slowly after several minutes. His gaze cleared little by little.

"Lysa," he whispered.

She held his hand carefully. "Father."

Brant looked around the tent. He saw blood, the basin, the old doctor, the frightened healer, and armed men standing outside.

"What happened?"

Lysa’s face twisted. "Merrick betrayed us."

Brant closed his eyes. It hurt him, but it did not shock him as much as Lysa expected.

Lucard noticed.

"You suspected him?"

Brant opened his eyes and looked at Lucard. "Who are you?"

Lucard released part of the blood-shape spell.

For a moment, the old doctor’s face shifted enough for Brant to see the young man beneath it.

"Lucard Vardros."

Brant’s weak eyes widened.

Then he looked at Lysa. "You brought him here?"

Lysa lowered her head. "I brought him to kill him first."

Brant stared at her.

Lucard said, "She failed."

Brant coughed weakly, but this time no blood came. "Clearly."

Lysa cried harder, half from relief and half from shame.

Lucard looked at Brant. "You went to a strange cave?"

Brant’s expression changed.

"Yes."

"You will take me there. Now!"

Lysa quickly lifted her head. "No. Father just woke up. He cannot travel now."

Lucard looked at her. "He can point."

Lysa argued, "He almost died."

Lucard said, "He did not."

Lysa said, "That is not a reason to drag him to a cave, where he got sick."

Lucard’s voice became colder. "Whatever was inside him came from that cave. If there are more, then your camp will not remain safe. If someone else finds it first, you will not understand the danger until blood fills your throat."

Lysa went silent.

Brant looked at Lucard’s closed fist. He asked, "You pulled something out of me."

Lucard answered, "Yes."

Brant asked, "What was it?"

Lucard closed his fist tighter. "A reason to go now."

The old mercenary leader breathed slowly. He was weak, but his eyes carried more sense than his daughter’s fear. He understood debt. He understood danger. Most of all, he understood that Lucard had not saved him out of kindness.

That was fine.

Mercenaries trusted debt more than kindness.

Brant tried to sit up.

Lysa rushed to support him. "Father, please."

Brant placed one hand on her shoulder. "He saved my life."

Lysa said, "You need rest."

Brant replied, "I need to repay a debt."

Lucard said, "Repayment can wait. The cave cannot."

Brant looked at him. "House Vardros and Ash Wolf had an old tie. Your father honored it once. I did not know Jeff and Merrick moved behind my back. That failure is mine."

Lucard did not soften. "Yes."

Brant nodded weakly. "Then hear me. If House Vardros accepts, Ash Wolf will serve them until death."

Lysa looked at him in shock. "Father."

Brant kept his eyes on Lucard. "Not as slaves. Not as dogs. As sworn blades under proper terms. We owe blood, truth, and old debt. I will offer service to the true heads of House Vardros."

Lucard looked at him. Then he said, "That will be for Jenny and Jake to decide."

Brant’s eyes changed slightly. He had expected Lucard to seize the offer. Instead, Lucard placed the decision elsewhere. That told him something about the broken Vardros family and the strange young man standing before him.

Lucard continued, "For now, take me to the cave."

Brant nodded.

"I will."

Lysa looked ready to argue again, but Brant held up one hand.

"No, Lysa. He is right. If that place did this to me, leaving it alone is foolish."

Lucard finally opened his fist slightly and looked at the small blood-covered thing hidden in his palm.

It no longer moved. But he could feel the trace from it. Somewhere far from the camp, something connected to it still existed.

His eyes became sharp.

"Prepare the horses," he said. "We leave now."

The camp moved faster than Lysa expected.

Brant Ashwolf could barely stand without support, but the moment he gave an order, the old bones of the Ash Wolf Mercenary Company remembered who their leader was. Men who had been confused a short while ago began moving with purpose. Horses were brought. Saddles were tightened. Water skins were filled. A few loyal mercenaries cleaned the blood from the camp ground while others dragged the dead traitors away from the tents. No one sang, joked, or complained. The camp had lost too much in one night, and every man who survived understood that Ash Wolf had almost been stolen from inside.

Lucard waited near the edge of the firelight.

The blood-shape spell still covered his face. White hair. White beard. Older skin. A bent doctor’s body when he chose to use it. But the men no longer looked at him like a weak healer. They looked at him like a blade hidden inside a medicine bag. Some lowered their eyes when he looked in their direction. Some tried not to look at him at all.

That was wise.