The Last Blood Mage

Duke's Gala

Xander entered the room and softly closed the door behind him, his curiosity overcoming his caution. Bloodhound's persistent warnings were met with Xander's determination to press forward, fueled by the desire to uncover the truth and secure the elusive cure.

“Who the hell killed this guy?” Xander mumbled to himself, his eyes scanning the room for any clues or the coveted invitation.

“Im telling you, Xander. You are getting way deeper into trouble,” Bloodhound's voice cautioned, but Xander was too focused to heed the warning. He scoured the room meticulously, cautious not to make any noise or disturb the scene. As he moved about, his search led him near Roberts' lifeless body.

Carefully navigating the room, Xander found himself standing next to a drawer adjacent to the bed.

“Please be here,” Xander whispered under his breath, his hope intertwined with the suspense of the moment. He gingerly pulled open the drawer to reveal a collection of books, not what he was looking for. Disheartened but undeterred, he shifted to the next drawer, discovering a pouch of gold coins.

“Not much use to him now,” Xander remarked, pocketing the pouch as he moved on to the third drawer. This time, luck was on his side, as he laid eyes on the white invitation card adorned with elegant golden letters.

“Invitation for His Grace Krovian’s gala,” Xander read aloud, relief flooding over him. He discreetly slipped the invitation into his coat pocket, a small victory in the midst of chaos.

“Now what's the plan, idiot? The maid will find the body, and the soldiers will investigate his death. You are the last person who asked to meet him,” Bloodhound's agitation rang in his mind.

“I don't have a choice. Hopefully, I'll be long gone by the time they start the investigation,” Xander retorted, his resolve unwavering despite the potential danger.

“You're going nowhere, idiot,” Bloodhound's anger reverberated, but Xander's focus shifted to his next task. He sought out the do not disturb card, essential for his ruse.

Amongst his hurried searching, Xander located the red parchment bearing the elegant calligraphy of "do not disturb." Clutching the card, he left the room, securing the sign on the door as a barrier against prying eyes.

“This will keep them away for a day or two,” Xander muttered, exiting the room with a sense of accomplishment. As he pocketed the invitation, he glanced at it and learned of the upcoming gala, scheduled for the evening. It seemed fortune had bestowed upon him a chance to attend, find the mage with the knowledge he sought, and potentially secure his escape from Emberlyn.

“Young master,” Robin's voice reached Xander's ears from behind, but he brushed it off and continued his departure from the emerald lion. His focus directed him toward the town square, where his next steps would unfold.

As he arrived at the town square, Xander's gaze skimmed over the various signboards that adorned the area. His attention settled on the path flanked by regal golden maple trees, their leaves gently cascading down like flecks of gilded beauty. With a determined exhale, Xander began his purposeful stride down the path, the crunch of the leaves underfoot accompanying his resolute movement.

"Last chance to turn around and stop your idiotic quest for the cure," Bloodhound's voice persisted in Xander's mind, a relentless adversary.

"Shut up. Once I learn how to get rid of these cursed powers, you will disappear forever," Xander muttered to himself, determined to press forward despite the internal struggle.

As he continued down the path, the looming presence of the duke's manor came into view. Horses and carriages lined the opposite side, a testament to the grandeur of the occasion. The palace itself, surrounded by imposing gray walls, stood as a symbol of power and opulence. Huge metal gates flanked by two armored guards marked the entrance.

The palace's architecture was awe-inspiring, adorned with intricate carvings that told stories of generations past—a beautiful garden sprawled before it, a vibrant burst of colors against the stone backdrop. As Xander approached, he couldn't help but notice the vigilant armored guards stationed at the gates, their eyes scanning every passerby with trained precision.

As Xander approached the heavily armored guards, one of them raised a gauntleted hand in a signal to halt. The guards were clad head to toe in formidable armor, leaving only their eyes visible through the helmet.

"What business do you have here?" inquired the guard, his voice muffled by the helmet. Xander's lack of a horse or carriage didn't fit the usual profile of gala attendees, most of whom arrived in opulent carriages or on horseback.

"I'm here for the gala. Apologies for arriving early," Xander replied, his tone polite but not overly deferential. He presented the invitation to the guard, who scrutinized it briefly before nodding.

"Welcome to the gala. Once inside, a maid will guide you to the gathering area," the armored guard informed him, swinging open the heavy metal gate.

Despite the pounding of his heart, Xander found solace in the steadying presence of Bloodhound within his mind.

"Young master," the voice of the young maid interrupted his thoughts as he entered the castle grounds. Xander's gaze was captivated by the meticulously maintained garden, the elegant fountain, and the grandeur of the castle itself.

"Are you here for the gala, young master?" the golden-haired maid in a crimson uniform asked.

"Yes," Xander affirmed.

"Follow me to the gathering area, young master. Beverages are being served to the early arrivals," the maid instructed, motioning for Xander to follow her.

Navigating the interior of the castle, Xander was struck by the luxurious surroundings. The corridor eventually led to a spacious courtyard that spread before him. The courtyard was a visual marvel, its manicured grass field hosting an arrangement of elegantly set tables adorned with various beverages. Nobles conversed in small groups, their vibrant attire a kaleidoscope of colors against the backdrop of the castle's grandeur. The atmosphere was charged with an air of anticipation and sophistication.

“You're an outcast here, and you know it. But that alluring scent of rich blood…” Bloodhound's voice filled Xander with unease, his heart racing at the undercurrent of bloodlust.

"Please enjoy your time, young master," the young maid bid him before departing the courtyard.

Xander felt palpably out of place, his guise as a noble notwithstanding. His upbringing in the streets clashed starkly with the refined atmosphere of the gala. Nerves gnawed at him, his discomfort growing by the moment.

"Have we crossed paths before, young man?" a calm voice reached Xander from behind.

Turning, Xander faced a middle-aged man with wavy red hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. His red robes harmonized perfectly with his hair and facial hair.

"I don't believe so," Xander replied.

Anxiety coiled within Xander as the nobleman closed the distance between them.

"There's an air about you," the man's once amiable smile slowly faded, replaced by a scrutinizing gaze that ran up and down Xander's form.

Bloodhound's words echoed menacingly, further unsettling him.

"You've fallen into his trap, and now you're headed straight for a cell," Bloodhound's inner growl continued to taunt Xander.

Are you certain you belong here?" the man inquired, his brow furrowed with suspicion.

Xander's demeanor shifted subtly, a barely perceptible hesitation flickered across his expression before he adjusted his collar, a simple gesture that inadvertently revealed his unfamiliarity with the intricacies of noble attire and behavior. The man's doubt was unmistakable, etching his suspicion more deeply across his features.