Sins of the Forefathers: A LitRPG Fantasy Isekai

Well, here I was. Standing in front of a door again, waiting for a noble to finish eating so I could collect his plates like he was a child. Not only that, but it was a noble that apparently wanted to see me viciously mauled to death. Great. I didn’t even have the option of eavesdropping this time. Magnus hadn’t made any noise inside his room since I’d been standing out here, much less spoken.

Whatever, I wasn’t actually up here to wait on Magnus anyway.

While I may have been distracted by Magnus’s horrific painting, I’d still gotten a good look at his room. Nothing in there had matched the description Grey had given me of a Ward Stone. The room hadn’t even had any connecting rooms to check, either. Bizarrely, I’d noticed a section of the room that contained a bathing and washing station with little sectioning off. I had no idea what that was about.

There hadn’t been any kind of safe in the room either, to potentially store it in. From what Grey had told me, you couldn’t do that with Ward Stones. They had to be resting on a specially prepared plinth that helped project the field the stone produced. It was apparently as much a part of the setup as the stone was, and it wasn’t portable.

If the stone wasn’t in Magnus’s room…

Then I had to check out the only other room on the third floor.

Casting a glance back over my shoulder at the door to Magnus’s room, I soundlessly walked across the hall to the door on the left side of the corridor. I was mindful of the noise that my feet were making on the hardwood flooring, as I had no idea the level of Perception that Magnus had. Once I had reached it, I reached out and gently tried the rightmost double door handle, only for it to refuse to budge.

Shit, locked.

Unfortunately, the lessons on stealth Silvia had given me hadn’t included lockpicking. Like a fool, I hadn’t even thought to ask for them. I stood there for a moment, contemplating the keyhole I could see beneath the handle. You know, it was actually pretty damn big, about the size of my upper thumb. Maybe I could see something through it?

Crouching down, I put my eye level with the keyhole. And yup, I was right. I could see through it just fine.

The room on the other side of the door wasn’t quite as big as Magnus’s had been. It was sparsely decorated, and only really had one thing in it. I felt a surge of adrenaline run through me at the sight of it.

That had to be the Ward Stone.

Hovering over the top of a nearly four-foot-tall sculpted column of marble was a basketball-sized chunk of clear blue crystal. Carved in the shape of a heptahedron like Grey had told me it would be, the stone and the marble plinth it rested above were absolutely covered in carved runes. For a moment, I just watched it spin in place.

Standing up and taking a few steps back from the door, I soundlessly pumped my fist in triumph. I’d done it. I’d managed to find where both the control slate and the Ward Stone were being kept. Now I just had to wait for my chance to exfiltrate the manor. It shouldn’t be that long, only a few more hours. The slaves weren’t allowed to stay in the manor, after all.

However, I didn’t get to enjoy my success for long.

I never saw the blow that knocked me out coming.

………………………………………

I don’t know how long I was unconscious. Slowly, I began to drift back to consciousness, aware of a vicious pain in the back of my head and a sticky sensation in my hair. I tried to open my eyes, only to hiss at the candlelight that burned them. I retained enough presence of mind to recognize this sensation.

Shit, I had a concussion.

“Ah, you’re awake.” I heard groggily somewhere above me. Despite my concussion, that voice sent a spike of ice running down my spine.

That was Magnus.

Eyes flying open, I tried to jerk upright and escape from him. Only, I was stopped in my tracks by something holding me down. Turning wild eyes to whatever it was, I discovered that I had manacles attached to both of my arms. Jerking on them, I found there was no way I was getting out of them easily. They were bolted to the floor.

Fighting against my concussion as hard as I could, I cast a wild gaze around. I was in Magnus’s room again, in the center of it this time. He had rolled the large rug I had noticed out of the way to expose a square section of stone that had multiple metal inlets. My chains were attached to a few of them, and I was resting in the middle of the square. Not only that, but I could see multiple dark brown stains set into the stone around me…

“Oh, do calm down, cattle.” I heard Magnus say contemptuously behind me. Jerking my head around, I found him staring at his grotesque painting in front of the still-open balcony doors. Beyond him, I could see that the sun had finally set. Fuck. If the sun was down, that meant the slaves had already been dismissed for the night.

“W-what do you want with me?” I asked, very real fear in my voice. Had he seen past my mask somehow? Did he know who I was?

“Did you enjoy gaping at my work earlier?” Magnus said, not answering my question. “I’ve felt unusually inspired, lately. It’s not often one of my chosen prey escapes me, and now this one,” He tapped a finger right over my mangled face on the painting. “Has done so twice. I admit, it has my blood up. But I’m not quite satisfied with this piece yet. I feel like it’s missing something. And I believe I know what that is.” Magnus finally turned around to face me.

He had a large, deadly-looking dagger clutched in his right hand.

“The reds aren’t quite right.” He said with a crazed glint in his eyes.

………………………………………

Magnus bled me nearly to the point of death. I can only guess that he’d figured out, through long practice, how much blood he could take from one person before they weren’t of any use anymore.

First, he’d pinned me to the ground with only one hand by putting his hand over my mouth and holding me there. Nothing I did even budged him, no matter how hard I struggled. Then, he took his dagger and opened an artery in my right arm in order to get me bleeding. He collected everything I lost in a bowl he’d brought with him. At one point, I was so desperate and wild with fear I even tried to reach for my dagger. I don’t know what I was intending to use it for when Magnus was so much stronger than I was, but I wasn’t thinking straight in my panic.

But even that was denied to me. The chains holding me down were so short and tightly connected to the floor that I couldn’t reach the hidden sheath on my thigh. Not with Magnus holding me down. All I could do was stare up at him above me with wild eyes as he stole my literal lifeblood.

Even that wasn’t enough for him, though.

Dazed and weakened, I watched as Magnus held the bowl up to examine it critically. He clucked his tongue before shaking his head. “Not nearly enough.” Before I could even scream, Magnus pounced on me again while withdrawing something from a pouch on his waist. This time, he grabbed my nose and forcefully shoved something against my mouth, nearly breaking my front teeth. From my prone position, I looked down at whatever it was. It was a small bottle full of a dark, nearly wine-red liquid.

A potion.

I didn’t want to drink it, but I had no choice. Eventually, I needed to breathe, and Magnus took that opportunity to pour the potion down my throat. I had to swallow it, or I would die drowning on land. I could feel the potion begin to work rapidly on me, and I watched with dull eyes as the trickling wound on my right arm began to gush once more. It seemed as if Magnus’s potion was some kind of blood replenisher.

Things grew hazy after this point.

I don’t think that was the last time Magnus used a potion on me, in order to get more blood. But I can’t be sure. All I know is that he bled me enough to fill a small bucket by the time he was done.

I was drifting in and out of consciousness at this point, well aware that I was in real danger of death from exsanguination. Despite Magnus being finished with me, the wound on my right arm was still oozing. Completely out of my mind, I watched dully as Magnus began to mix something into the bucket and mix it in with a satisfied hum.

So, this was how I was going to die. Bled out by a madman in order for him to make a more depraved painting.

I’m sorry, Grey. I’m sorry Azarus.

I don’t think I’ll be able to help you escape, after all.

I passed out, certain I was about to die.

But not for long.

A hideous burning sensation, originating on my wounded arm, shocked me back to life. My eyes flew back open and I screamed wildly in renewed agony from the sensation of my cut wound melting closed. Magnus was standing above me, holding a red-hot hooked fire poker over the injury he had caused on me, cauterizing it with a bored look on his face.

“Oh, cease your caterwauling, bloodbag,” Magnus said scornfully. “You should be grateful I’m doing anything at all. You’re only getting this much because I don’t want to be bothered calling for your corpse to be taken away. You can haul your own carcass out of here now that I’m done.” With a contemptuous flick of his wrist, Magnus tossed the fire poker back into the fireplace from which it had originated, on the eastern wall of his quarters. The first erupted into renewed flames, burning away my blood and viscera stuck to the poker. With a spoken word from Magnus that I didn’t understand, the manacles around my wrists fell off.

Despite being released, I felt too weak from blood loss to even contemplate getting up and escaping. I still tried though. Shakily, I turned over onto my stomach and tried to push myself up, only to fail. I fell flat on my face. In front of me was one of the discarded bottles of blood-replenishing potion. Through blurry eyes, I was able to tell that there were still a few drops left inside. Maybe…maybe that would be enough…

I grabbed at it desperately with weakened fingers, barely managing to tilt it up enough for the few remaining drops to fall into my mouth. I let go of it afterward, the glass clattering to the stone section of the floor beneath me. I…I think I felt a bit better. But only slightly. I managed to get myself up onto my knees this time, in order to see that Magnus had completely turned his back on me. He was painting with my blood.

I felt a surge of never before felt hatred roll over me. I wanted to kill Magnus more than I had ever wanted to kill anyone in my life. Slowly, my hand began to drift toward my hidden dagger. If I got him in the right place with The Scintillant Blade, maybe it would be enough…

I was shocked out of my revenge fantasies by Magnus speaking again. “If you’re not out of my chambers in the next few minutes, cattle, I’ll finish the job.” He said with his back still turned, audibly bored with me. He never once stopped painting. “I don’t care what Orinbar says about it.”

Damnit. I hated him, and I wanted him dead, but I was too weak right now. If I tried to attack him, I wouldn’t be able to get my blade in his back fast enough. He would be able to hear me coming from a mile away and would kill me instantly for trying.

I didn’t bother saying anything in return to his order. I merely pushed myself up on wobbly legs and stumbled my way out of his door. Before I closed it behind me, I made sure to turn around and burn the image of Magnus merrily painting away with paint made from my blood into my memory. I didn’t want to forget this.

Another time, Magnus. I promise you that.