A few weeks had passed, and in those weeks, Kieran and the Sacred Inheritor made several significant strides in their endeavor.
The Sacred Inheritor displayed signs of an expanded soul, invigorated and able to connect to Kieran so deeply that he could feel her emotions now. As it turned out, her growth followed a pattern. Her soul would first be expanded, then invigorated and refined, and then the process repeated until it formed a cycle.
It wouldn't be long before her soul was primed to contact the other Inheritors.
That delighted Kieran, but not as much as his own progress.
Kieran's blood flowed much faster, and it heeded his command once he imposed enough of his Will. It took a hefty amount, but it was a step in the correct direction. Soon enough, he'd be familiar enough to either recreate the Blood Rune or… have little need for it.
Something told Kieran the latter was the desired outcome.
If he had little need for the Blood Rune, it meant his Will had greater control over the blood than the Rune could manage.
However, there was also the possibility that enhancing Blood Mania meant refining the Blood Rune itself. If that was the proper way to accomplish the first step of his Advancing, Kieran was in an unfortunate situation.
When it came to refining a Rune, he had minimal experience.
At most, he could perhaps apply his modest understanding of wordmancing to assist in the refinement process.
But, Kieran had a suspicion that using the power of wordmancing to alter the Blood Rune was not the approach of a traditional Blood Fiend. However, that didn't mean it was entirely wrong.
'If I take that route… it would mean I'd be traveling a path no other True Berserker or Blood Fiend has taken before.'
An untraveled path had its unknown difficulties, but it also had its exclusive rewards. Those who were unique were usually the most memorable and also known as trailblazers — pioneers of uncharted paths.
That said, the Blood Rune wasn't a true rune or a word. At its core, it was a mapping of Blood Mania's properties and the most efficient way to access a True Berserker's abilities.
But… what would happen if Kieran made it into an actual word? He didn't have the skills to pull that off currently, but it was food for thought and something he kept dormant in the back of his mind.
What would fusing the Blood Rune and Mystic Gate create?
'…Some kind of Mystic Blood? Seems interesting enough. But also incredibly complicated.'
He had zero interest in entertaining these idle thoughts until his foundations in blood powers and mystic essence were ironclad.
Suffering from training fatigue, Kieran ventured into unexplored parts of the Temple of War and Flame — the Cardinal's personal chambers in particular. He always found it odd that the Cardinal was often missing in action.
Upon entering the hallowed place, second to the Flame's Altar, Kieran was met with extreme surprise.
Kieran didn't consider the Cardinal of War and Flame a slob, but he didn't expect the man to be so orderly. Everything in his chambers had a designated position, making it seem almost obsessive. Other than the wear time caused to stone blocks, columns, and furniture, his chambers were spotless.
The handmaidens of this place seldom approached the Cardinal's personal chambers, but Kieran strolled through them comfortably. For some reason, he felt welcome and at ease while walking through his strangely tidy place.
That's when a resonant sound made his ears twitch. It was faint and sounded extremely distant, but it was the familiar sonorous ring of metal striking metal. And it occurred in a deliberate, severe rhythm.
Following the sound led Kieran to an inconspicuous stone wall, which he dragged his fingers across for an access point.
His movements were guided by the passive effect of his altered eyes, but it wasn't as noticeable as before. Mental and soul trauma was the most problematic to recover from, and his profound ocular abilities were the best of both worlds.
Soon, the wall receded and slid away, revealing a staircase descending into the eerie darkness below.
'Pretty sketchy if you ask me. But…'
Kieran shrugged, took a deep breath, and descended the steps with his hand against the wall for guidance. It wasn't needed for long. Torches attached to the wall with metal sconces came alight with pale blue flames, illuminating the path downward.
At the bottom of the steps, the resonant sound grew piercing and echoed, and Kieran learned the cause of that earlier sound.
Cardinal Weiss was hunched over an anvil, banging an unrefined, red-hot metal mold. Sparks danced through the air, igniting it like brilliant fireworks and mixed with the sweat flying off the Cardinal's scarred limbs. His robes were tied around his waist to prevent them from being set aflame.
Feeling the new presence, the Cardinal's voice echoed calmly in this subterranean forge.
"Ah, it is you, Valdu. It appears you have found my forge."
Racks of neatly aligned weapons stretched across the walls of the underground forge. There were spears, one-handed swords, and two-handed swords. It was a collection of seemingly every kind of weapon known to man — a comprehensive armory.
Enough to gear a small army if need be.
'Gear a small army?'
Kieran arched a brow and analyzed the Cardinal.
It appeared this man alone was responsible for gearing every follower of the Flame's twisted faith. Judging by the quality of the weapons here, it was also safe to assume the man was the source of the weapons used during the Cullings.
Those were likely his failures or what he deemed unacceptable regarding quality.
Curious, the Cardinal looked over at Kieran, who thoroughly inspected the armory full of weapons until he came full circle and returned to the anvil.
What truly caught Kieran's attention was the current piece the Cardinal was working on. For some reason, it felt grander than the combined presence of every weapon resting inside this forge.
'It feels no different from a complete weapon… but why is Weiss continuing to forge it?'
Even with his improved sight, Kieran could not find any faults in the weapon. It was seemingly perfection — a realization of the Cardinal's consummate skill. He didn't give off the air of a blacksmith, but he was incredibly skilled in the craft.
Come to think of it, Kieran noticed something strange with the way the Cardinal Weiss struck the hammer. It embodied his combat style, but there was something more profound — an inescapable, crushing sense of peril. It was dreadful and made Kieran's heart ache like it was being stabbed and ruthlessly wrenched.
Kieran inevitably gasped, clutching at his tight chest while struggling to breathe.
"Oh? You can sense that? You're more perceptive than you let on, Condemned Fiend. What I am forging… it will be a great weapon. It is fueled by the way of the Ancients. That alone gives it the making to be great. But… I'll take it further and touch the limits of what I know to ensure it is truly glorious."
The Cardinal's zealous gaze returned, accompanied by a dark wistfulness and burgeoning sense of accomplishment.
His fervent gaze bore into Kieran, its pressure suffocating and overbearing. But it was soon curtailed by the Cardinal's resurgent composure.
"The great conflict will soon be among us. And this weapon… it will serve a great purpose."
Kieran looked at the incomplete blade as Cardinal Weiss dipped it into a red-hot furnace. It was an absurd crucible that tempered the metal. Once it reached the right temperature, he removed it and struck it with a dreadful hammer.
The screams from the metal sounded like a bleeding heart, like the wails of the condemned.
With a focused expression, the Cardinal uttered a sentence.
"This great weapon… will be called Heartsbane."
