Chapter 561: The Magic Power of Blood
Agatha’s relief lasted only until the footsteps faded down the corridor.
Was I too harsh? She turned back to the wooden boxes she had arranged that morning and began settling the God’s Stones of Retaliation into their frames. Four hundred years. Perhaps she owed the common people — even the lord among them — more patience than she gave. But the thought dissolved as her hands found the familiar weight of a Magic Stone. Some things could not be observed by outsiders. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.
The template demanded six Sigils: four of Listening, one of Screaming, one of Observing. She had expected Roland to reach for combat Sigils — the old instinct of soldiers — but he had chosen the supplementary array, guided by the stones available. Economical, she allowed herself to think. In the Quest Society, using a Supermagic’s legacy stones to produce a Sigil of Screaming would have earned a week of reprimands. But Roland did not have that luxury. Neither did anyone now.
The stronger the Sigil, the more magic power it devoured. That equation never changed.
A knock at the door.
She set down the stone and opened it with the faint resignation of someone who has determined that solitude is a thing reserved for other lives.
It was Anna and Nana — the assistants she had requested.
“You’re just in time,” Agatha said, stepping aside. “Screening is finished. We can begin the embedding.”
The first blood entered the wooden box through a coated flexible tube, and the God’s Stones began to change.
Bright blue — the demon’s blood — dripped onto the stones, and bubbles rose from the surface like water brought slowly to boil. The corners of the hard stones softened and flowed downward in thick rivulets, peeling away to reveal the raw stone beneath, as if the blood were dissolving a shell they had always worn.
Across the room, the demon strained against its iron chains with what remained of its strength. The struggle was silent and convulsive — all tendon, no voice — and utterly futile.
Six boxes filled. The first was already boiling, its contents a swirling murk of fine sand, mercury, demon blood, and liquefied stone. Muddy and strange and alive with motion.
“Does the quality of the materials affect the Sigil?” Anna asked, watching the surface move.
“Substantially.” Agatha’s eyes stayed on the first box. “The Quest Society understood the magic power as something that transformed the body through and through — which is why Senior Witches were physically superior to ordinary witches, and why Transcendents pushed the body to its limit. For Sigil-making, we preferred the blood of the strongest demon and the finest God’s Stones available. Lady Alice’s own Sigil of Retaliation was completed with the blood of a dying Supermagic, taken on the battlefield.”
“Would witch’s blood react the same way with a God’s Stone?”
“No.” Agatha inserted a dividing panel into the first box, working with the efficiency of someone who has done this a thousand times and lost colleagues to each variation. “Witch’s blood does not melt stone. The reaction is gentler — it flows freely at first, like water. But the demon’s blood eventually solidifies to the hardness of stone itself.” She paused to fit the panel flush. “So the production of a Sigil resembles metalwork. Before the liquid sets, we embed the Magic Stones and complete the most critical step — connecting the Magic Vein.”
“Vein?” Anna’s head tilted. “Like a plant?”
“Yes. The Quest Society believed that only living things could carry magic power. Without a Vein, a Sigil is inert — the Magic Stones remain individual, and no combination of power emerges between them.”
“Then the demon’s blood is giving these materials… life?”
“Not alone.” Agatha’s voice was even. “A witch’s blood is also required.”
Nana’s hands flew to her mouth.
Agatha did not look up. She had expected that. The first time she had witnessed the process, she had not been able to speak for the rest of the day. “The Quest Society discovered it by accident. When witch’s blood is mixed with demon’s, the result keeps the melted God’s Stone in a state that could only be called alive — active, sustaining, like a plant with roots that continue to draw nourishment. The Vein holds its power indefinitely, even left untouched for years.” She glanced at Anna. “It is difficult to describe precisely. You will understand when you see it.”
The first box had cooled to a grayish luminescence — condensed blue wax, thick and still.
Agatha removed the panel, leaving two hemispherical grooves and a shallow connecting channel. She picked up the knife from the table and drew it across her wrist without ceremony. Bright crimson welled up and filled half a wine glass.
“Would you heal that, please,” she said to Nana.
This was why she had chosen them both. Anna possessed the finest capacity for learning within the union — a gift for absorption and replication that would outlast any single practitioner. And Nana could stop the bleeding without replenishing what was lost; healing witches had been the front-line backbone of Taquila’s forces, and none could be spared for laboratory work. In the old days, Agatha had used herbs and cloth and accepted the hours of weakness that followed.
If it were not for what Roland Wimbledon has shown me — and for the way he looks at all witches, without flinching — I would bury this method permanently.
The fact that witch’s blood could merge with demon’s blood was something that most people, even within the union, could not bear to know. She herself had wondered, in those first sleepless nights after the discovery, about the origin of witches. The question was corrosive to morale, to unity, to the will to fight; it was one of the secrets the union had kept beneath everything else. She had not wanted Roland in the room for precisely this reason.
Especially with the old rumors still circulating — witches as demons’ servants, corruption made flesh.
She had wanted to delay the moment of his knowing. That impulse was probably foolish. He would find out regardless.
Self-delusion. She pressed the glass against her wrist and began.
When the mixture reached its half-hardened state, Agatha pressed the Magic Stone into the groove and poured her warm blood along the shallow channel. Crimson threaded into the channel while the cobalt-toned blood clots around it began to move — not flow, but wriggle — their edges blurring, interpenetrating, until the boundary between one and the other could not be found.
She injected her magic power into the Sigil.
The red vein blazed with fine rays of light. Countless luminous points traveled along its length, expanding and contracting with a slow rhythm — like breathing. Like something that had been waiting to begin.
Anna and Nana understood simultaneously what Agatha had meant.
The Sigil was alive.
Chapter 561: The Magic Power of Blood
Translator: TransN Editor: TransN
…
Agatha was relieved when Roland and the woman finally left.
[Was I being too much just now? Perhaps I should be more kind towards the lord even in the face of a common people. After all, 400 years have passed, the world is different now.] Despite these thoughts, she still did not like nonwitches entering the laboratory where the Sigil was produced and she did not want His Majesty to know the method of making the Sigil.
Of course, the latter would soon be revealed.
Agatha turned around to set up the six square wooden boxes she had prepared in the morning and inserted the God’s Stones of Retaliation His Majesty collected into them.
It was the template for making the Sigil base.
Four Sigils of Listening, a Sigil of Screaming and a Sigil of Observing were what she needed to make.
As she had expected, His Majesty did not choose any combat Sigils, but instead, he chose the basic supplementary Sigils in accordance with the Magic Stones in hand. The action of using high-quality Magic Stones left by a Supermagic to make the Sigil of Screaming and the Sigil of Observing was considered a waste in the Quest Society.
Now that Roland possessed powerful firearms, the demand for the combat Sigils was of course, not as strong.
Not to mention that the stronger the Sigil was, the more magic power would be required.
A knocking sound came from outside the shed again.
It seemed that in addition to an independent research tower, she would also need a few servants. Agatha reluctantly put down the Magic Stone in her hands and opened the wooden door.
“What’s the matter, Your Majesty? Anything else…”
“Thank you for waiting, Miss Agatha.”
“Mmm hmm, do you need me to treat the demon again?”
It was Anna and Nana entering this time. They were the assistants Agatha had requested from Roland.
“No. Ahem,” she corrected herself and said, “You’re just in time. I’ve just finished screening. Let’s put the materials into the boxes, and then we can officially start the production.”
…
When the bright blue blood flew into the wooden box through the coated flexible tube, some incredible changes began to happen to the God’s Stones.
When the blood dripped onto the stones, a series of bubbles emerged. Like a burning candle, the corner areas of the hard stones were melted into sticky liquid flowing down from the stones, revealing the God’s Stones themselves.
The demon was desperately struggling, exhausting the very last effort it had left as if it was aware of what they were doing. Unfortunately for it, the struggle was futile under the confinement of the solid iron chain.
Soon, the six boxes were filled with the blood of the Mad Demon. The first box looked as if it were boiling. The surging liquid was mixed with fine sand, mercury, and the God’s Stone, looking sticky and muddy.
Anna carefully observed the changes and asked, “Does the raw materials affect the quality of Sigil?”
“Yes, it mainly depends on the God’s Stone of Retaliation and the magic power of blood. The Quest Society thought that the magic power transformed all aspects of the body. The physical quality of Senior Witches was apparently better than that of ordinary witches. Moreover, the transcendents had achieved their limitation at this point. In order to improve the efficiency of the Sigil, we would try our best to choose the blood of the strongest demon and the God’s Stones of the best quality to make better Sigils. For example, Lady Alice’s God’s Sigil of Retaliation was completed with the blood of a dying Supermagic on the battlefield.
“Will the same happen when a witch’s blood merges with the God’s Stone?”
“Not the same. The God’s Stone won’t melt like a candle and the reaction won’t be as intense. The liquid formed can flow freely like water now. However, the demon’s blood will eventually solidify and become as hard as stone.” Agatha said while inserting a piece of separating panel into the wooden box, “Therefore, the process of making Sigil is similar to melting metal. Before it’s completely solidified, we have to embed the Magic Stones and complete the most crucial step—connecting the Magic Vein.
“Vein?” Anna was curious. “Like a plant?”
Agatha nodded. “Remember what I said previously? The Quest Society thought that only life could carry magic power, and without the Magic Vein, a Sigil will only be a dead object. The Magic Stones would still be individual entities but would not jointly produce the incredible power after the combination.”
“Does this mean that the demon’s blood can give these ordinary substances… life?” she asked in surprise.
“It doesn’t happen with the demon’s alone.” Agatha calmly answered, “We need a witch’s blood as well.”
Nana was shocked. She covered her mouth with her hands.
“The Quest Society only discovered this secret by accident. Mixing the witch’s blood with the demon’s would produce a strange effect, keeping the melted God’s Stone ‘alive’, like a plant. The vein would not lose the effect of magic power even if it was left aside for a long time… I’m not sure how to describe it. Anyway, you’ll understand when you see it. ”
The first box of liquid had cooled down, revealing a layer of grayish light. It looked like condensed blue wax oil.
Agatha removed the panel, leaving two hemispherical grooves and a strip of shallow groove in the box. Then she picked up the knife on the table and slid it across her wrist—the bright crimson blood gushed out thickly, filling up half of a wine glass. She said to the little girl, “Help me heal the wound, please.”
This was the reason Agatha had chosen both of them.
Anna had the best learning ability within the union. She was suitable for the inheritance of the skill and Nana could help to effectively reduce Agatha’s pain. Healing witches were the main forces of the front-line combat in Taquila, it was impossible to arrange for any of them to support the Quest Society. Most of the time, the laboratory could only use herbs to treat the wounds after releasing blood.
If it were not for the hope of defeating the demons Roland Wimbledon showed her and the unbiased treatment to all the witches, she would rather bury the method of the Sigil making for good. The fact that the witch’s blood could be perfectly blended into the demon’s blood was unacceptable to most people even in the union. Even with her personal exposure to this matter, she had once suspected the origins of witches. Such confusion was very detrimental to the Battle of Divine Will, thus, the making of Sigil was one of the secrets that the members of the union had strictly kept.
She did not want His Majesty to participate in the observation for this reason.
Especially there were the rumors about witches being minions that had fallen into the demon’s seduction.
Agatha hoped to delay the time when Roland would find out even though he would find out sooner or later.
[It’s probably a self-delusion.] She secretly sighed to herself.
When the mixture was semi-hard, Agatha embedded the Magic Stone into the groove and poured her warm blood onto it. The crimson blood was flowing within the shallow groove and the cobalt-toned blood clots surrounding it started to wriggle; the edge of both gradually blurred, forming into an interpenetrated form.
After that, she injected magic power into the Sigil.
Suddenly, the red-colored blood line projected fine rays of light and numerous light-spots were flowing within the vein. It was rhythmically expanding and shrinking with wriggling movements, as if it were breathing.
Anna and Nana understood the meaning of Agatha’s words at the same time. The Sigil had come “alive”