Chapter 203 – The Blood-Drinking Chalice
As he flipped through the first few pages of the book in front of him, Arcane murmured softly.
“…It’s changed a lot.”
Through these books, he could indirectly sense the shifts occurring within Demtor.
The books that entered the Ivory Tower were exclusively reserved for mages.
By simply glancing at the latest arrivals on the first floor, one could grasp the current trends and major developnts within Demtor—
Because anything that mages found interesting or considered important inevitably turned into books.
Even with just a brief scan of the newest titles, it was clear what was the hottest topic at the mont.
One na dominated the book covers:
[Blood Nature—The Divine Elixir?]
[Blood Nature—Experintal Verification of Its Effects.]
[Blood Nature and Its Influence on Demtor.]
“…Blood Nature.”
Lately, Demtor was obsessed with a new potion known as Blood Nature.
As Arcane skimd through various titles, his gaze halted upon one book in particular.
[The Star of Demtor, Gram Seraphim—Is There a Limit to Her Alchemy?]
Aside from Blood Nature itself, several books focused on the alchemist who created it—Gram Seraphim.
“…So it really happened just as she said.”
A mory surfaced—
The night before he left Hell Gri, she had told him that once her new alchemical potion was complete, Demtor itself would be dragged under its influence.
Judging by the current atmosphere, it seed she was right.
Her potion had beco indispensable to mages.
“State your identity.”
A voice called out behind him.
Arcane turned to see a mage—likely a librarian—approaching with a deep frown.
In his hand was a magic artifact, gripped tightly, as if ready to attack at a mont’s notice.
There was only one reason for this hostility.
The man before him—Arcane—had no trace of mana in his body.
Only those chosen by the Ivory Tower were permitted entry.
Anyone who broke that rule was subject to imdiate execution—no questions asked.
“…Ah, it seems the librarian has changed since my last visit.”
Arcane chuckled lightly and pulled back his hood.
Then, with a calm smile, he raised his hand—
Revealing a ring.
A golden emblem, engraved with the letter D.
The librarian’s eyes widened.
“…Ah! M-My apologies!”
He quickly bowed his head, his attitude shifting entirely.
This was the Honorary Seal, an insignia granted only to those acknowledged by Demtor’s Stars.
A person bearing this insignia was considered equal in rank to a Star of Demtor.
And there was only one person in all of Demtor who currently held this title.
White-haired, strikingly handso, with a distinct earring.
“…Welco to the Ivory Tower, Lord Arcane!”
“May I proceed?”
“If you tell what you’re looking for, I’ll retrieve it for you imdiately!”
“I’d like to browse books related to the Lords of the Fallen World.”
“…Ah. That…”
The librarian hesitated before bowing his head again, his expression troubled.
The Lords of the Fallen World—
A term referring to the rulers of ancient tis.
Books on the subject were exceedingly rare and were stored on the topmost floor of the Ivory Tower.
Even the librarians weren’t granted access to that level.
“In that case.”
Arcane simply nodded and began ascending the stairs.
He could have used magical artifacts to teleport directly to the top—
But he chose the stairs.
Because he needed ti to think.
Prophecies were always abstract—
And the task of interpreting them was his burden alone.
To do that, he needed both sharp intuition and an awareness of the world’s flow.
Right now, his focus was on the Grand Duke.
Bersen Clarke.
A Grand Duke—and also one of Demtor’s Stars.
He was a man who had the power to reshape Hell Gri itself.
A figure with the greatest influence over Demtor.
When news of Arcane’s return spread through Radiant Ren, Grand Duke Clarke had invited him the mont he arrived in Demtor.
That was just the day before—
And their conversation had revealed sothing.
“…His entire aura has changed.”
Even his appearance had changed.
His usual sleek, half-white hair remained—
But his skin, his presence—they felt… younger.
And his mana had grown imnsely stronger.
Arcane was certain—
At the center of this transformation was the alchemical potion, Blood Nature.
Gram Seraphim of the Black Tower.
Her potion had spread rapidly, carried by the influence of the Grand Duke—
Praised by mages, it was spreading like wildfire.
What effect would this have on Demtor’s fate?
“…I suppose I’ll find out when I see her.”
With Gram Seraphim on his mind, Arcane reached an old, rusted iron door.
He pushed it open, stepping into the top floor of the library—
And was imdiately struck by a familiar scent.
The thick, tallic stench of blood.
An unpleasant aroma filled the archive.
Frowning, Arcane clenched the gem on his earring.
“…Not a damn thing has changed.”
A soft hum filled the air—
And in an instant, two enormous wings of blue light spread from his back, wrapping around him protectively.
At that very mont—
KAZZAZAZA—!
A storm of razor-sharp, blood-red spikes shot toward him—
A lethal rain of cursed thorns, imbued with sinister mana, ant to rip him apart.
But—
The spikes froze mid-air, stopped completely.
Around Arcane, the library floor was now covered in pools of blood.
The aftermath of the shattered thorns.
“…Arcane? You startled .”
A voice rang out from the shadows.
Erging from the depths of the dimly lit library—
Was a woman.
Her very presence exuded seduction.
Golden hair cascaded past her waist, soft yet untad.
A crimson robe draped loosely over her shoulders—
And beneath it, her bare skin was visible, as if she wore nothing at all.
Gram Seraphim.
With a lazy sweep of her long hair, she flashed Arcane a knowing smile.
“…It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
Arcane didn’t respond.
Instead, his gaze shifted past her—
To what lay beyond.
The floor was soaked in blood.
From the depths of the shadows, severed arms and legs twitched faintly—
Still alive.
Yet, there were no screams, no cries for help.
Only the silent, desperate writhing of bodies pleading for salvation.
Arcane’s gaze lingered on the grueso scene, prompting Gram to smirk and wave her hand lightly.
Kwa-jajak!
With a sickening crunch, the mangled limbs were yanked back into the darkness.
A fresh tide of blood spilled across the floor, spreading rapidly—
Only to be absorbed into Gram’s robe like a sponge.
Arcane let out a quiet sigh as he watched the blood at his feet trickle toward her.
“…Your taste hasn’t changed.”
“I simply followed the laws of alchemy.”
“Equivalent exchange?”
“The man wanted my body—and I wanted his blood. I paid the price, so I took what was mine.”
To Demtor, Gram Seraphim was known as the greatest alchemist of her era.
But that was rely the tip of the iceberg.
Right now, Arcane was likely the only one who knew the truth about her real abilities and nature.
“…Did you co here specifically to see ?”
“I had other business, but I didn’t expect to run into you like this.”
“You do know this is my private sanctuary, don’t you?”
“I didn’t consider it private. Any of the Stars of Demtor can enter whenever they wish.”
“If they use magic to reach the top floor, sure, it’s easy to detect them. But the Stars don’t scurry their way up like rats.”
“…So the librarian here is yours.”
“It’s a business arrangent. But yes, you could say he’s mine.”
Gram casually pulled her robe around herself before settling into a chair by the table.
She crossed her legs, looking up at Arcane—
The image of a woman lounging in a bathrobe, beckoning for affection.
A spell.
Arcane flicked his earring, disrupting the effect, and chuckled before taking a seat across from her.
“That won’t work on .”
“There’s an old saying about people who have no blood and no tears. You fit that perfectly. Are you even human?”
“I am.”
“…Humans are seventy percent water, you know? And I know a spell that can manipulate the blood within that water. Blood contains all of a person’s primal instincts—and one of the strongest of those is desire. If I touch that part of soone, no matter who they are—They react.”
“…I see.”
“Arcane, you really are fascinating. The way you imdiately saw through my abilities—That’s the only reason I haven’t killed you yet.”
Her words were affectionate—yet chilling.
She was the kind of woman who could smile while slicing soone’s throat.
“I only saw what the prophecy allowed to see. But I didn’t see everything.”
“If you want the rest, you’ll have to offer sothing of equal value.”
“Like when I told you about Arena Huaton’s worth?”
Arena Huaton.
The daughter of Dominic Huaton, the mage who once researched biological magic at the Mage Tower.
She possessed an exceptionally rare bloodline that enhanced mana absorption.
With a single sentence, Arcane had condemned the girl to a living hell.
The Grand Duke had approved, and Gram had used Arena as raw material—
Creating one of the most valuable alchemical potions in existence.
“…Is her blood the key ingredient in Blood Nature?”
At his question, Gram smirked, licking her lips—
A habit she had whenever she felt regret.
“Blood Nature is complete, but the perfect host body for it is still a work in progress. That damned father of hers managed to smuggle her away before I could properly experint on her body.…You haven’t heard anything about her from Tobaron? I sent trackers after them, but they lost the trail in Laup Forest.”
Arcane recalled a certain na that had surfaced a few months ago.
[Arena Huaton—Incarnation of Retonicalus, the Undying.]
After a brief pause, he shook his head.
“They’re both dead.”
“…Do you know where the bodies are?”
“I don’t.”
Gram’s brows furrowed slightly.
“…Sha. I was hoping to use that information as your price for seeing more of my fate.”
“…Instead, how about this?”
Arcane reached into his coat—
And pulled out a handkerchief.
A handkerchief stained crimson with blood.
Gram took it from him, her gaze flicking back up to silently ask whose blood it was.
Arcane simply smiled.
Clicking her tongue, she activated a blood-identification spell—
And then—
She froze.
The essence embedded in the blood was far from ordinary.
“…This…”
Her expression shifted.
She inhaled deeply—
Then, unable to resist, she pressed her tongue against the fabric, licking the blood repeatedly—
Her pupils dilated.
Finally, she bit into the handkerchief, chewing it greedily—
Zzzriiiip—
The stained portion of the cloth tore away, and Gram swallowed it.
Her eyes glead, burning red.
The telltale sign of excitent.
“…Whose blood is this?”
Arcane slid a slip of paper toward her.
It contained a na.
Kal Blazer.
For a long mont, Gram stared at the note.
Then, she slowly opened her mouth.
“…My na is Gram.”
“I already knew that.”
“Would you like to know the aning of my na?”
“I’m more interested in your true identity.”
She tilted her head, a playful yet ominous glint in her eyes.
“…My identity is tied directly to the aning of my na.”
At that mont, Arcane’s fingers brushed against his earring.
A green glow spread through the air.
And as a new truth inscribed itself within his gaze—
Gram’s lips curved into a smile.
“In the ancient tongue—
My na ans…
‘The Blood-Drinking Chalice.’”
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