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墨書 Inktalez
Looking around, the entire Healing Chamber exuded a classical style. On the neatly arranged rows of beds lay various patients—some were sharp-eared and beautiful elves, others were long-haired dwarves, and there were even werewolves covered in dark fur. Moving among these patients were men and women clad in Black Suits.
A man who appeared to be the leader stepped forward, using a sharp blade to make an incision on a dwarf, then tasting the blood for a moment before revealing an irritated expression.
"What kind of garbage blood has been sent this month? Didn't the Malovmi Mountain Battle just happen? Where are those powerful beings from the various races? With just this trash, how can we research anything useful?"
In response to the man's roar, a Handmaiden trembled as she spoke, "My lord, most of the strong ones perished in the mountains, and those few who survived would not allow themselves to be captured; they usually choose to commit suicide..."
"Do I need you to tell me that?!" the man snapped angrily, waving his hand. "Send this dwarf to the dogs; he has no research value left."
Thus, amidst the dwarf's furious struggles, he was ultimately dragged away by two burly men.
Garen couldn't help but feel surprised. From those in Black Suits, he sensed a unique aura of the Blood Clan. It was clear that this place was under their control and was used for treating patients while extracting high-quality fresh blood from them.
But the question was, how did he end up here?
Just as Garen was filled with confusion, he suddenly caught sight of a Woman in a White Veil sitting beside his bed, coldly staring at him.
"It's you!" Garen's heart skipped a beat. He was about to summon his Fighting Spirit when he abruptly realized that there was no response from Qi Xuan; he had completely lost his connection! Immediately afterward, a tearing pain surged through his body.
"I advise you not to move," Pale Face said expressionlessly. "Although your recovery ability is remarkable, with your current condition, any significant movement will only bring you pain."
"What is this place?" Garen remained vigilant, though he felt no hostility from the woman in white.
“Solomon's Castle,” Bai said with a hint of sarcasm. “Don’t delude yourself into thinking I want anything from you. To be more precise, your life was saved by Solomon. If anything is to be gained, it is only right.”
Garen was not provoked by the other party. He was well aware of his own condition; the injuries he sustained from facing Sundgoth had nearly brought him to the brink of death. Even having recovered to this extent, it was far from easy, and it was clear that the other side had provided substantial assistance.
“What happened to my Fighting Spirit?” Garen asked the most crucial question.
However, upon hearing this, Bai displayed a strange look, an inexplicable chill of murderous intent emanating from her.
In an instant, Bai returned to normal. She stood up and said, “Staying here is not good for you. If you want to escape, I will help you.”
Garen was taken aback, momentarily confused by her meaning. No matter how he looked at it, he felt as if Bai had brought him here; why would she want Garen to leave? Moreover, there was a key point in her words—escape.
Could it be that someone did not want Garen to leave this place?
At that moment, Bai had already walked over to the leading man. In response to his respectful demeanor, she instructed him with a few words, and the leading man turned his gaze toward Garen.
After a moment, the leading man approached.
“Cyril Solomon?” he asked coldly, dropping the respectful tone he had used with Bai.
Clearly, this was the “new name” Bai had given to Garen. Regardless of whether she truly intended to help Garen escape or not, at least having a vampire identity would make things much easier here.
“Garen,” Garen replied flatly. Although this action seemed unwise, he was not someone who would easily abandon his name.
Strangely enough, a smile appeared on the man's face.
"Identity verification successful. Garen. Cyril Solomon, the illegitimate son of the 147th generation Bloodline 'Lantirino,' has returned to the clan in the Malovmi Mountains to make a low-level contribution." The man nodded, "You are strong. Welcome home."
The man's smile was genuine, clearly seeing Garen as a long-lost kin.
Garen pinched the bridge of his nose; this was obviously some sort of misunderstanding. However, after several encounters, it wasn't difficult to guess Garen's reaction.
Then, a statement from the leading man caught Garen's attention.
"Go to the west hall to collect your belongings; someone will arrange a new residence for you. By the way, your current physical condition is unstable, and the purity of your Bloodline cannot be determined, so I advise you not to move around carelessly for the next couple of days and to rest properly."
The latter part could be ignored; after all, Garen was of pure Demacian bloodline, and there was nothing to be learned from studying him as a member of the Bloodline. What truly piqued Garen's interest was the first part.
Belongings?
Back in the Southern Suburbs, Garen hadn’t carried anything with him. As for items like the Stormblade, the Holy War System would automatically store them away, so he didn’t need to worry about that at all.
Thinking this through, Garen immediately looked towards the interface of the Holy War System… however, no matter how he summoned it, the Holy War System remained unresponsive, as if it had never existed.
This made no sense; after all, the Holy War System was bound to Garen's ninth brain domain and, in a sense, had become a part of his life.
Recalling the earlier oddities he had experienced, Garen became increasingly convinced that something might be wrong with his Fighting Spirit.
Five minutes later, Garen received a package. Upon opening it, he found inside suddenly a Bronze Eye and a staff about an arm's length long that was black and purple.
Holy Eye! Undead Staff!
Garen quickly came to terms with the situation. The balancing energy provided by the Watchtower had actually been sufficient since the moment he stepped out of the stone tablet. It was only reasonable that the Undead Staff and Holy Eye had been left behind, yet Garen couldn't help but feel a sense of disbelief that such valuable items would be returned to him by Solomon.
Before long, a servant led Garen to the Eastern Bastion, separated by a seemingly endless corridor lined with numbered doors.
Upon opening Room 208, he was greeted by a neat and exquisite small room, with all living essentials neatly arranged in the storage area. According to the servant's earlier introduction, Solomon's Castle housed many lower-tier clansmen. Aside from those who had branched out and could reside in the manor, the rest were assigned to the Eastern Bastion.
Of course, this did not mean that Solomon's upper echelon was particularly considerate. From another perspective, it was more akin to breeding; Noxus had similar arrangements. When external enemies invaded or battles were needed, these lower-tier individuals would be treated as cannon fodder, unhesitatingly discarded by those in power.
Sitting in the room, Garen did not immediately reach for the Holy Eye or Undead Staff. Instead, he began to reflect on the scenes he had witnessed upon awakening.
First and foremost, he could confirm that this was certainly not a dream.
Secondly, he was currently located within Solomon's Castle of the Bloodline Thirteen Clans; more precisely, he was in Room 208 of the Eastern Bastion—a place designated for expendables.
This ancient castle appeared harmonious on the surface but was actually filled with conflicting relationships. Some wanted to keep him there, though their motives remained unclear for now. Conversely, others wished for his departure—like Bai.
But why?
Garen did not believe he possessed any exceptional qualities that would attract the attention of the higher-ups in the blood clan. When he first arrived in Godeas, Garen had carried almost nothing with him; even his Stormblade remained in a dormant state. In terms of physical prowess… Garen had yet to reach Second Rank status, which hardly warranted such significant efforts and resource expenditure from the blood clan.
The strange expression on Bai's face resurfaced in his mind.
Garen inexplicably felt that perhaps these truths were closely linked to the Fighting Spirit he could not sense.
Just then, there was a knock at the door.
As he opened the door, he saw a disheveled old man leaning against the doorframe, revealing a set of yellowed teeth as he chuckled.
"New here? Just call me Old John," the old man said with a grin. "I live in 207, your neighbor. Oh, and if you have any questions in the future, feel free to ask me. But, well..."
Old John rubbed his fingers together, indicating that while you could come to him anytime, he would also be asking for payment in return.
Garen didn't want to engage too much with him, and just as he was about to close the door, the door to 209 swung open.
"New here?" A burly Bloodline Youth sized up Garen and said arrogantly, "Stay away from that old guy. Stick with me, and I guarantee you'll eat and drink well."
In the bloodline community, not everyone had access to pure and high-quality blood. After all, other races weren't pushovers either; they wouldn't just let you drain their blood. Most lower-tier bloodlines typically consumed pig or sheep blood. While the inferior quality of blood could hinder their cultivation, it was manageable if they were merely cannon fodder.
For those at the bottom seeking high-quality blood, they undoubtedly had to resort to some means.
Garen glanced at his two neighbors.
One was a greedy old bloodline man.
The other was a brash bloodline thug.
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