Warlock Of The Magus World FF: Dark Lord

After taking six syringe of Great Knight blood thrummed with power, Leylin immediately steered the carriage forward to escape to a safe distance from the academy.

Leylin's hands tightened around the reins as he urged his weary horses onward. After five days of relentless travel, exhaustion gnawed at both him and his animals.

As the barren roads slowly gave way to signs of civilization, Leylin reined in his pace. Sparse fields stretched on either side of him, and a towering windmill spun lazily in the distance. A crystal-clear stream flowed beside the road, tiny fish darting through its waters.

The sight was almost... calming.

"Grey Stone City should be nearby," Leylin murmured, glancing at the map he had purchased earlier.

He frowned. 'Too close to the academy... There could be Magi gathering points nearby.'

Before he could dwell on the thought, his black horse whinnied, shaking its head before trotting forward in an unexpected direction.

Leylin let it go, guiding it back onto the main road. The signs of human activity became more apparent—farmers tending to fields, children playing near the stream, and finally, the silhouette of Grey Stone City rising before him.

The city walls were unimpressive—short, almost decorative. Beyond them, sharp, gray rooftops and circular buildings peeked over the horizon. Armed soldiers patrolled the gates, though their posture was lazy, more for show than for actual defense.

As Leylin approached, a patrol leader, clad in worn leather armor, raised a hand to stop him.

"State your purpose," the man demanded, his eyes raking over Leylin and the chests on his carriage.

Leylin gave a slight smirk. "I'm a mercenary knight."

At his words, the patrol leader's greedy gaze flickered. His eyes trailed over Leylin's expensive-looking horse, then lingered on the cross blade at his waist. He swallowed visibly, a bead of sweat forming on his brow.

"The fee for entry is one bronze coin!"

Leylin flicked a yellow bronze coin toward him. The patrol leader caught it, fingers tightening around it like a lifeline.

"You may enter. But remember—no wandering around at night. If you're caught, you'll be thrown into the dungeons!" The leader forced a smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Leylin nodded and rode into the city. Behind him, a disgruntled soldier muttered, "Leader, why didn't we—"

"Shut up!" the patrol leader snapped. "Didn't you see his sword? He came here alone, carrying goods, and arrived without a scratch. Do you want to mess with someone like that?"

The soldier wisely held his tongue.

Inside the city, Leylin's presence drew attention. Commoners scurried out of his way, eyes filled with both fear and admiration. Some nodded in silent approval, while others whispered behind cupped hands.

'Dumb muggles,' Leylin thought disdainfully.

The city itself was unimpressive—dusty, impoverished. Yellow mud roads crumbled underfoot, mixing with coarse sand that the wind whipped into the air. The people wore ragged clothes, their hollow cheeks betraying malnourishment. Livestock roamed freely, and the stench of dung lingered in the air.

"Filthy," Leylin muttered. "Let's find a place to stay."

But an inn was not easy to find. Eventually, a few coppers exchanged hands, and a local directed him to a questionable establishment in the western part of the city.

Leylin stared at the signboard, unimpressed. As he approached, he passed brawls in the streets—men throwing fists, others pulling knives. The air reeked of cheap alcohol, and not a single city guard was in sight.

Pushing open the door, the overwhelming scent of stale wine and unwashed bodies assaulted him.

"Come! Another round!"

"Jack, you bastard, you cheated!"

The place was a haven for drunks and degenerates. Women, half-dressed and giggling, entertained men whose hands wandered freely.

A yellow-haired youth behind the bar met Leylin's gaze. He looked sober, at least.

"Sir, what'll it be?"

"I'm looking for a place to stay."

The bartender shrugged. "You're in luck. We're the only establishment in Grey Stone City that provides lodging."

Leylin tossed two silver coins onto the counter. "A quiet room. And take care of my horses."

The bartender's eyes widened slightly at the sight of silver, but he quickly pocketed them with a polite nod.

"Of course, sir. Pleased to be at your service."

Just then, an annoying voice rang out from outside.

"Look at these horses! This fur! This build! They're worth more than the city lord's!"

Leylin's eyes turned cold.

His horses had drawn unwanted attention. As he stepped outside, he found a group of thugs circling them. One of them—a cross-eyed man—was already trying to untie the reins.

"Any problems?" Leylin's voice was calm, but his aura was anything but.

Cross-Eyed turned, sneering. "This is my horse! You stole it from me, you damned thief!"

The other thugs grinned, emboldened.

"That's right! Let's drag him to the city guards!"

The surrounding commoners looked on in silence. No one interfered.

Leylin's lips curled into a sneer. "I've been in a foul mood lately. You lot just had to test your luck."

Cross-Eyed lunged with a dagger. Leylin sidestepped effortlessly. His hand shot out like a viper, seizing the man's wrist. With a sharp twist, a sickening crack echoed in the air.

"ARGH!" Cross-Eyed howled, his dagger clattering to the ground.

Leylin wasn't done. He kicked him squarely in the ribs, sending him crashing into the wall. Blood dribbled from his mouth as he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

The other thugs hesitated, but one—perhaps the dumbest—rushed at him. Leylin caught his arm, yanked him forward, and slammed his elbow into the man's nose. A spray of blood followed as he collapsed, writhing.

Another tried to stab him from behind. Without turning, Leylin backhanded him with enough force to shatter teeth.

One by one, they fell. Limbs twisted unnaturally, bones snapped, screams filled the alley.

When only groans remained, Leylin walked back to Cross-Eyed. He raised his foot— crack!—and stomped down mercilessly on the man's leg.

Cross-Eyed woke up from the pain—just long enough to faint again.

Leylin flicked the blood from his fingers. "Get lost."

The remaining thugs scrambled away, dragging their broken companions.

Inside the bar, the bartender watched, pale-faced.

"At the least, he has the physical power of a Knight!" The bartender groaned inwardly as he put on an even gentler and humbler expression

"My most respected sir! Is there anything I can do for you?"

Leylin chuckled, tossing him another silver coin. "Take care of my horses. And tell me—who was that fool?"

The bartender lowered his voice. "Just a small-time thug. His brother-in-law is a city guard, but... nothing serious."

After Leylin displayed the strength of a Knight, many of those who had some malicious intent towards him quietly retreated.

Leylin scoffed. "Good. Take me to my room."

The bartender led him to the back, to the quietest room in the building. The golden sunlight filtered through the window, illuminating a simple but clean space. A small vase of wildflowers rested on the bedside table.

Leylin nodded. "This will do."

He took the key, dismissed the bartender, and locked the door behind him.

Finally, some peace.

...

Inside the dimly lit room, Leylin sat on the wooden bed, the brass key lying untouched on the bedside table. The noise from the bustling tavern outside had faded into an indistinct murmur, barely audible through the thick wooden walls.

A faint golden glow from the setting sun streamed through the small window, casting flickering shadows on the rough wooden floor.

He took a deep breath, steadying his mind. The room was simple but sufficient for what he needed. After a week of exhausting travel, avoiding potential dangers while conserving his strength, he had finally reached a place where he could properly begin his next step.

Leylin's fingers ran across one of the chests he had brought, unlocking it with a quiet click. Inside, nestled carefully among folded cloths, were several tightly sealed vials of crimson liquid—the Grand Knight's Blood. Each vial contained an immense concentration of vitality, extracted from Dorotte servant. The scent of iron and latent power was thick in the air the moment he unsealed one of them.

Holding up a vial, Leylin's cold, calculating eyes reflected the dark red liquid within. This was no ordinary blood—it carried the essence of those who had walked the path of the Grand Knight, their physical strength, endurance, and life force condensed like potent elixir for someone with his special powers but If he wished to ascend further, he had to absorb it carefully.

Leylin sat cross-legged on the bed, his breathing slowing as he entered a state of focused meditation. Within his consciousness, a sinister presence stirred—the Cursed Bloodline Codex. A shadowy tome, bound in dark, pulsating flesh, appeared in his mind's eye, its ancient pages inscribed with forbidden techniques. This was his greatest secret, a source of power so dreadful that few could even comprehend its existence.

As he connected with the Codex, an eerie chill spread through his veins. The first page shimmered, revealing runic inscriptions that detailed the forbidden art of Blood Assimilation.

"Refine the essence… Consume the vitality of the strong… Flesh and blood are merely vessels for power."

With steady hands, Leylin uncorked the vial and brought it to his lips. The thick, viscous blood slid down his throat, hot like fire and heavy with the essence of battle-hardened warriors. Immediately, his body reacted—his muscles tensed, his veins bulged, and an overwhelming surge of energy threatened to overwhelm his senses.

Leylin clenched his jaw, his breathing deep and controlled. He forced the power into submission, guiding it with his Knight Meditation Technique.

His consciousness sank into his body. He could feel the Grand Knight's blood breaking apart within him, spreading through his muscles and bones like molten steel. Every fiber of his being burned as if it were being reforged anew. His heart pounded like a war drum, his flesh trembled under the onslaught of newfound strength.

The Cursed Bloodline Codex pulsed within his consciousness. A sinister force latched onto the invading essence, stripping it of its former owners' will and refining it into something entirely his. With each passing second, Leylin devoured the vitality, reshaping it into his own power.

He exhaled slowly. The pain lessened, his body adapting, absorbing, growing stronger. He reached for another vial.

One was not enough.

He consumed a second. Then a third.

Each time, the power surged through him in waves—each time, he mastered it.

Hours passed. Outside, the tavern was still alive with drunken laughter and brawls, but inside this quiet room, Leylin was changing. His aura grew darker, heavier, exuding an overwhelming pressure that would have terrified an ordinary knight.

Finally, as he drained the last vial, Leylin opened his eyes. A dark glint flickered within them.

He slowly clenched his fists. The strength coursing through his body was undeniable—his muscles felt denser, his bones tougher, his very existence more refined.

But this was merely the beginning.

Leylin smirked, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

'I need more Grandknight blood, with only 6 vials I reached intermediate Knight level, although some resistance have build I can still reach high knight level easily.'

Not using the bloodline extraction through the Cursed Bloodline Codex altar drops the powers he can gain from blood by a considerable margin but the risks are also lot less, Leylin has decided that until absolutely necessary he wouldn't use the bloodline extraction, as Blood Assimilation is already enough powerful.