CHAPTER 327: THE BLOODLINE AWAKENING

The Bloodline Awakening

The hall stretched endlessly, its ancient stone walls consuming the dim light from enchanted orbs and brass lamps. That soft, golden light ought to have prevailed over the gloom, but it only accentuated the chill emptiness in the air. Leon stood by himself at the center, his boots tapping gently on the marble, each tap being consumed by the endless vastness.

His eyes slowly took in the cavernous space illuminated only by the gentle shimmer of orbs floating near the high ceiling and the flickering shadows cast by aged lamps lining the walls. The scent in the air was sharp—cold stone mixed with dust, and beneath it all, the faint ghost of incense that once breathed life into this fortress but now whispered only forgotten memories.

He allowed his eyes to drift, soaking in the stillness. Recently, this corridor had been alive—people walking, voices hushed with nervous urgency, the movement of those gearing up for travel or combat. He could hardly hear children’s laughter, women’s whispers, men’s intent pacing. Now? Only empty quiet lingered, shattered by the hum of lamps in the distance, and the pain of loneliness.

A deep sigh broke from him, echoing from the chilly walls like an abandoned supplication.

Leon’s movements shattered the stillness, slow and deliberate. His boots snapped crisply as he moved across the wide floor, every step a heartbeat in the huge silence. At the very center—the ancient heart of the fortress—he sat down on the rough stone, crossing his legs under him. The cold crept into his bones, but he didn’t wince. Instead, he breathed in slowly, steadying himself, and then breathed out with measured calm.

His eyes closed, a lungful of air expanding in his chest as the world slipped away. Then, in an instant, his eyes opened—alert, focused. His voice cut through the silence.

"System... now initiate."

A measured, calm voice answered, slicing through the silence with precision.

[Affirmative, Host.]

Leon’s fingers tightened slightly, his eyes narrowing with intent. "So... which process do we initiate first? The three treasures... How does this integration begin or function?"

The voice of the system came back, calm and accurate, as if reciting an ancient ritual.

[Host, this process will rebuild your body in stages.]

[We will first alter your bloodline. Your new bloodline will reinforce your body at its center. Your body will become stronger once fully incorporated and acclimated.]

[Then, with that stronger vessel, we start integrating the Velvet Tyrant Physique — something that will increase your physical strength and durability even more.]

[Lastly, after those two processes are done, your last gift will be activated: the Soul Artifact.]

Leon nodded slowly, the road ahead of him mapped out. His golden eyes blazed with resolute determination. "Alright. System —begin."

A distant hum lingered near him—delicate, living, almost as if a pulse was being synchronized with his own heart. In the curve of his hand, something began to form: a deep red orb, thudding gently as if it contained a living heart. Its surface was even but was almost yielding, like liquid contained just under a thin skin, ready to burst forth.

Leon’s eyes furrowed, brows knitting in contemplation as he examined it. "So, system," he replied, voice firm and level, "how do I activate this blood orb initially?"

[Host, just put the blood orb straight into your mouth. The process will start right away.]

He nodded, hesitant and slow, as if not wanting to be hasty with something so delicate and perilous. Taking the orb up to his lips, he hesitated on the verge of opening. Suddenly, a stinging reminder halted him.

[Reminder: Bloodline changing initiated. The procedure will take seven days. Harsh physical reactions will ensue. Are you sure you want to continue?]

A slow, confident smile tugged at Leon’s lips—subtle, but sharp as a blade. "I know the pain it will cause. Let’s begin. I’m ready."

[Very well. Best of luck, Host.]

He breathed out once, calming his breath, then pressed the orb against his tongue. At once, a metallic odor arose—irony blended with a hint of sweetness, old and weighty. The surface was cool and greasy under his tongue, a living thing coiled in restraint. With a faint crackle, he bit down.

The orb split open with a soft snap, spilling warm, thick liquid into his mouth. The sensation was odd—eating firm jelly, but heavier and more dense. The taste wasn’t sweet, precisely, but had a sharp iron flavor, interspersed with an insidious thread of sweetness that teased and picked at his senses. Something within it tugged at him, a convoluted hunger knotting sharp blood to faint sweetness.

He bit again, again. The orb diminished rapidly, running out like liquid into nothing until only a small piece was left. He tilted his head back and swallowed it whole, the molten heat running down his throat as burning liquid.

Leon lowered himself to the floor slowly, serene, waiting.

"Begin the process," he instructed softly in his mind.

Seconds ticked through silence. Nothing moved.

"System—" he started, but the thought broke before it could complete.

Suddenly, furious heat burst within him—pure and devouring—like each droplet of blood under his skin had been set on fire. His heart battered against the confines of his ribs, agony piercing sharp and wild like a drum pounding merciless in his chest. Teeth gritted hard, a harsh growl was wrung out as his fingers bit into his knees, holding tight.

A searing pain tore through his chest—not from an injury, but something snapping free deep within.

His eyes darted down to his hands. Veins under the skin broke through, now visible, throbbing like raging rivers of red flame. His entire body ached as if it was ripping itself from the inside out. Those veins blazed bright, burning fiercely before exploding into seething angry crimson lines.

For one heartbeat, his golden eyes blazed bright—then hemorrhaged into absolute crimson, blood flowing wild behind his eyes.

Agony burst through every muscle, every strand of fiber, every cell, a tempest ripping his flesh asunder. He longed to cry out, to be done with it—but couldn’t. Not yet.

All his instincts screamed to drench his body in raw power, to smother the pain with unyielding energy. Desperation intensified his concentration. He called up his cultivation energy, prepared to swallow the turmoil within.

But before he could let it out, the system’s voice came razor-sharp through the tumult—

"Host—stop! Don’t use your natural strength."

Leon blinked, bewilderment slicing through his agony like a broken razor. "What? Wh—why? What’s happening to me?!"

"Relax, host," the system responded calmly. "This procedure replaces your bloodline. The blood orb imparts new blood into your body, which necessitates ejecting the previous blood before the new bloodline can integrate. You must persevere through the purge."

His mouth strained shut, brain reeling in a whirlwind of pain and incredulity. The pain obscured his thinking, but somewhere among the maelstrom, sense glimmered again. One thing he was sure of: the System wouldn’t kill him—it couldn’t. He would die, and it would die.

Abruptly, a harsh cough ripped from his chest. One, another. He vomited globs of heavy, dark blood onto the icy stone floor. The red pool grew rapidly, seeping into the marble from deep red to nearly black under the golden light of the hall.

The coughing would not cease. He heaved again and again, until the ground was covered in a deep red sea below him. Blood gushed in waves out of his mouth, each drop torn from his veins by some cruel hand.

His body drained of its life. Flesh that had been hot with life soon lost heat quickly, paling into the jaundiced yellow of the dying—as though death itself had passed over his skin.

With each gasping breath, harsh and raw. Every muscle crying out in pain. Organs crushed, starved, shredding apart inside him. For a sickening moment, he believed it would be over.

Weakness weighed heavy upon his limbs. His breaths became shallow, raw, desperate.

His heart pounded with violence under the agony. Muscles cried out in protest, organs as if tearing apart from the inside out.

He wanted to die.

But just as hope was about to be engulfed by despair, a sudden rush flooded through his chest—a mighty tide returning to his veins. A bolt of lightning bursting from his very heart, speeding through every empty vein, animating where there had been no life.

Gradually, the paleness cleared. His flesh grew warm, taking on a tender tinge of life again, a red seeping back like sparks from coals. The head lay deeper, richer in hue, heavy and vital as it flowed like an incoming tide surging within him.

The pain in his chest eased, the stabbing giving way to a dull pound. It was replaced with something unfamiliar—something new running through his veins. The blood was thicker, heavier. alive like his previous blood had never been. It bore the memory of something old, something that recalled the flavor of triumph and the weight of rule.

He took a deep, level breath.

This is new blood.

It was alien and familiar at the same time, a river changing its path under his flesh.

Time passed—two hours, then more—but eventually his breathing normalized, the pain becoming bearable.

He sat up, shuddering muscle but alive.

"System," he croaked, voice rough, "So... I have the new bloodline now?"

The response was clinical, but weighted with significance.

"Host, your bloodline is rare. You have not activated it to full capacity yet."

Leon’s eyes widened. "Not awakened?" His head snapped up, snapping with it. "Wh—what do you mean?"

"The change will last for seven days. Only then will it be known if the merging was successful."

He swallowed hard, voice cracking. "So... what if I don’t?"

"The odds are low. The bloodline either fully merges or it dissipates, leaving a residue. About forty to sixty percent success rate.

There was silence between them for a beat. Then he swore under his breath.

"...Fuck."

It was barely out of his mouth before the pain returned. More intense this time.

His body tensed up as another wave slammed into him, wrenching and twisting. His heart pounded like it was trying to burst out. He screamed—a raw, feral bellow that sounded hollowly down the empty hallway. His hands tore at the marble floor, nails scraping in deep enough to cleave.

The hallway witnessed a man fighting within himself.

The blood merging was a crucible—a fierce battle of fire and ice raging within his body. Each heartbeat pounded through him like an unforgiving forge, remaking, dismantling, and constructing anew out of the ruins. Agony pierced keen, then dwindled to a heavy throb, only to cut through him once more, again and again, an unceasing agony extending over the next seven days. And the cold brutal truth spoken in the shadows: this pain would grow only with the slow passage of time.

It was as if the blood itself turned against him—burning and chilling all at once, writhing his insides out in ways people could not even anticipate. His sight blurred, clouding on the edges, but he clamped down hard, grinding his teeth together against the tempest that was ripping him apart. This turmoil inside wasn’t mere agony; it was a hellish rebirth, a torture transformation.

Leon’s fists were clenched hard, perspiration streaming down his brow as the agony’s fever burned on. But deep down, as obstinate as a burning star that refused to fade, a seething ember burned deep inside his chest. "I will survive," it murmured, and with that rough, arrogant spark, he clung.