Fallen Chronicles



Bal quickly rewound the soul memory, finally focusing on the moment when 86's short hair was swept up by the strong wind. He zoomed in on the soul's image, closer and closer, obsessively focusing on one particular detail.

His eyes were fixed on one spot.

 86's neck.

More precisely, the complex tattoo-like brand on her neck.

"This... Impossible! This is! Am I mistaken? No! It can't be! This is... But why, it shouldn't be... That person is already"

After emerging from the soul search, Bal was still in shock, muttering to himself in disbelief.

From the perspective of an outsider, the chieftain of the Ancient Wolf Clan had never seen their usually composed High Priest in such a state of disarray.

'Was there really a serious problem in the tribal forest?'

'Something that could even shake the High Priest?'

'How could this be?'

'Could it be the "inferior" clans of the tribal forest?'

…

Bal remained in this state for a good five minutes before gradually calming down.

The chieftain, about to probe further, paused as Bal made another move.

Bal lifted the sleeve of his arm, and with the long nail of his other hand, gently slashed his exposed arm. The blood flowed out like a knife cut, one drop, two drops, five drops.

After precisely five drops of blood, Bal healed the wound, lowered his sleeve, and meticulously smoothed out the creases.

On the other side, the chieftain of the Ancient Wolf Clan, initially shocked at Bal's self-bleeding, soon had his eyes filled with the crimson of the blood, losing clarity and becoming filled with frenzy and desire.

Watching the chieftain's thirst for his blood, Bal's lips curled into a smile. Then, with a flick of his finger, the five drops of blood flew into the chieftain's body, beginning to merge with him.

"Ugh, ahh, ugh!"

The chieftain of the Ancient Wolf Clan began to roar deeply, his already muscular body bulging with veins, the muscles on his limbs swelling madly, his aura intensifying.

In just a minute or two, the chieftain, who had been at the 'Common' level like many demi-human kinds, suddenly leaped to exuding a 'Danger Rank' aura, a powerful presence.

As a consequence of this transformation, the chieftain's body was now covered with unnatural, eerie blood markings that spread across his skin, even tinting it a faint red.

"Thank you High Priest, for granting me rebirth, for purging my tainted bloodline and lifting the curse. I will personally lead the finest warriors of the Ancient Wolf Clan and extinguish those foolish clans in the tribal forest who dare to defy your will!"

The chieftain, ecstatic with his newfound power, became even more brutal and impatient. His eyes glinted with a bloodthirsty eagerness, and he seemed eager to embark on a massacre.

Unfortunately for him,

"No, you are not to touch those people in the tribal forest. Instead, I want you to go alone and bring their leader to me."

After Bal's calm directive, the chieftain was baffled.

"High Priest, what do you mean? Invite the leaders of those tribal alliances? And do it all by myself?"

The chieftain had thought that the High Priest's gift of blood and power was a mandate to quell any threats. But now, after using five precious drops of sacrificial blood, he was being sent as a mere messenger? And to the enemy, no less?

He couldn't understand. Was delivering a message so significant that it required him, the head chieftain, to personally undertake it? And why would the leaders of the opposing side willingly come to their enemy's stronghold?

As he pondered this, confused and irritated, a sudden cold sensation at his neck snapped him back to reality. Bal was standing before him, his fingernail pressed against the chieftain's throat.

With a slight movement of Bal's finger, a wound appeared on the chieftain's neck, threatening to bleed. The chieftain's back was drenched in cold sweat, all his previous thoughts vanishing, leaving only fear.

"This is of utmost importance, of the highest priority to me. That's why I entrusted you with this task and granted you the power to ensure you can deliver my invitation to that leader. Do you understand?"

"But what if their t leader doesn't come?"

After Bal emphasized the task's importance thrice, the chieftain adjusted his previously dismissive attitude. But with such significance placed on the task, he was now even more fearful of failing and ending up like the soul-drained scouts beside him.

On the other side, retracting his hand from the chieftain's neck, Bal adjusted his clothing, maintaining his elegance. He raised his head as if gazing at the ceiling, as though he were looking beyond the boundaries of geography and time, into some distant past.

Soon after, Bal let out a cold snort.

"Don't worry."

"He will definitely come."

With these words from the High Priest, the chieftain had no choice but to hope that the new leader of the Tribe Forest was indeed willing to come. Just as he was about to leave to deliver the message, he was halted by the High Priest.

Bal hesitated for a moment, as if struggling with some internal conflict. However, it seemed that a certain desire deep within him eventually prevailed. He retrieved something from the inner pocket of the courtesan's kimono – a portrait?

When the chieftain took a look at it, he became even more perplexed. The grayscale sketch depicted a person, and yes, it was a portrait of their High Priest.

"This..."

"Deliver this along with the message to the leader of the Tribe Forest. Apart from that, do not utter another word, regardless of what he asks you."

"Understood, High Priest!"

As the chieftain hurriedly agreed, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease and tension emanating from the High Priest, both when handing him the self-portrait and when reminding him not to speak too much. It was as if something was troubling the High Priest.

The chieftain left the High Priest's room and proceeded to carry out the orders. After placing the palm-sized portrait in a package, he set off on a mad dash toward the Tribe Forest under the cover of night.

Back in his solitude, Bal returned to the dressing table, looking at his reflection in the mirror. His facial expressions underwent a series of transformations—anger, amusement, hatred, confusion. But ultimately, his expression settled into one of blankness.