Chapter 63: Fire Inside a Chest (2)
The smell of burned flesh still hung in the air. His black clothes were ruined around the chest. He looked down at the hole in his shirt and the damaged skin beneath it.
A faint smile touched his lips, but there was no happiness in it.
"I cannot believe someone that weak injured me."
His voice was low.
A Rank Four.
In this lower world, a Rank Four mage could be considered powerful. To small noble families, Dorian Velkhur had been a monster. To House Ravencroft, he had been a weapon they could rely on. To Tina, he had been revenge walking on two legs.
To Lucard, he was weak.
Still, that weak person had injured him.
That meant Lucard’s current body was weaker than his pride allowed him to ignore.
He had gained five levels from Dorian’s heart and blood, reaching level fifteen. That was useful, but not enough. He was still in the First Blood Circle. His flesh had improved. His recovery was better. His blood control had strengthened. He had gained slight fire resistance and a trace of Ember Core. But if another stronger enemy came today, especially someone from the main line of a duke family, this body would not survive easily.
Lucard leaned back and closed his eyes again.
A real fight would come soon.
He knew it.
Dorian’s death would not stay quiet. House Velkhur would not accept it. House Ravencroft would hide behind them. House Marovain would try to use contracts, witnesses, and reputation to control the damage. Every side would move. Every side would lie. Every side would try to turn blame into profit.
That was good.
Chaos was useful.
But chaos only helped the person strong enough to move through it.
Lucard was not strong enough yet.
He needed more blood.
Better blood.
Higher rank blood.
He needed to reach the Second Blood Circle quickly. Then the Third. Then the Fourth. Only when he could properly absorb noble bloodlines would this lower world become more useful to him. Noble families were proud because their blood carried power. That pride would become his food.
He looked at the dried blood on his palm.
Dorian’s blood had given him a small taste of Ember Core. Not enough to use the bloodline properly, but enough to improve his resistance and understanding of Velkhur fire. If he absorbed someone with stronger Velkhur blood, perhaps he could take more.
His smile became colder.
House Velkhur would send more people.
That meant more fire blood would come walking to him by itself.
Lucard slowly stood.
Pain struck his chest again, but it was weaker now. He placed one hand on the table and waited until the wave passed. Then he looked toward the window. Through the curtains, he could see part of the street below. People were moving again, but their voices were lower than before. News was already spreading. By evening, half of Gravehold would know that Lucard Vardros had killed Dorian Velkhur in front of the Marovain shop.
By tomorrow, the story would become bigger.
By the next day, it would no longer be only about Lucard.
That was the point.
Lucard looked toward the inner room where Jenny and Jake waited.
"They need protection," he said quietly.
Then his eyes became colder.
"No. They need to become useful."
The heart curse tightened slightly, as if warning him not to think of them only as tools.
Lucard frowned and pressed his hand over his chest.
"I know. I know."
He hated that feeling. He hated anything that pushed him from inside. But he also understood that Jenny and Jake could not remain weak. If they stayed weak, they would always be bait. They would always be chains around his legs. If he wanted to rebuild House Vardros and use it later, the two legitimate children of the family needed value.
Jake had to survive.
Jenny had to survive.
Peter had to recover.
And Lucard had to become strong enough that no Rank Four fire mage would ever again make him cough blood.
He sat back down.
His body still needed rest. Absorbing the remaining fire mana too fast would damage him more. He had to heal carefully, step by step. His old mind wanted to rush. His current body could not handle it. That was another insult, but a true one.
Lucard closed his eyes again and sent his blood through the wound.
A thin orange spark appeared under his skin.
He crushed it with blood.
Another spark appeared.
He crushed that too.
Slowly, the angry coal inside his chest became smaller.
Outside the door, Peter sat with his sword across his knees.
In the other room, Jenny sat on the bed with Jake leaning against her side. Jake was not sleeping, but his eyes were heavy. Jenny kept one hand on his hair and listened for every sound from Lucard’s room. She wanted to go to him. She wanted to ask if he was alive, if he was in pain, if he needed help. But she knew he would only get angry.
So she waited.
Lucard continued healing alone.
Blood moved.
Fire died.
Pain remained.
His lips opened slightly, and he whispered into the quiet room.
"I need to get stronger."
No one answered him.
He did not need an answer. His blood tightened around the last piece of Dorian’s fire, and the room became silent again.
Meanwhile...
Orven looked at Peter and lowered his voice. "Does he always act like that?"
Peter glanced at the closed door. "Like what?"
"Like he owns the road, the inn, the city, and half the kingdom."
Peter was silent for a moment. "Recently, yes."
Malik folded his arms. "He killed Dorian Velkhur and then ordered us like servants."
Peter looked at both guards. "And you followed."
Orven’s face became stiff. "We are following Lady Celia’s order."
Peter nodded slowly. "Of course."
Malik frowned. "Why do I feel you do not believe that?"
Peter looked back at the door. "Because I was being polite."