THE BLOOD INK OF THE VALERIUS BLOODLINE

Chapter 6: Cauterization and Iron Thorns

The painful scrape of severed rope fibers grinding against limestone echoed through the cave.

Billy felt around the cave floor with his toes, pinched the bone-handled dagger between them, then awkwardly bent forward until the muscles in his back felt like they were being forcibly pulled apart. The tip of the dagger slowly sliced through the bark-fiber rope around his wrists.

One loop snapped.

Then a second.

Crack!

The rope came loose. Billy immediately dropped to his knees, catching his weight with his violently trembling left hand. The cold air stung the raw, bleeding skin around his wrists, but the pain was quickly swallowed by an overwhelming wave of nausea that slammed into his stomach.

Billy vomited a clear, foamy liquid onto the cave floor.

A thick, rotten stench rose from beneath the torn fabric of his clothes, the smell of rotting flesh mixed with greenish pus oozing from his abdomen.

Faelan, who was sitting beside the campfire, snorted irritably. The Elf Ranger waved a hand in front of his nose, clear disgust spreading across the undamaged half of his face.

"You smell like a wild boar carcass that's been sitting in a swamp for three days," Faelan said coldly. "Even an earthworm would think twice before eating you."

Billy wiped his mouth with the dirty sleeve of his jacket and looked up with a sarcastic grin.

"Thanks for the compliment, Boss," Billy rasped. "If the smell bothers you, why don't you spray some air freshener? Or open a window while you're at it."

Faelan ignored the joke.

He rose, approached with noiseless steps, then grabbed Billy by the jaw and leaned the young man's body toward the firelight. His silver eyes examined the stab wound in Billy's abdomen, now swollen to the size of a fist, blackish-purple with red veins spreading wildly toward his chest.

"Marsh water poison and rust from a human blade," Faelan murmured. "The tissue is already dead. Your blood is beginning to decay. If this continues until dawn, the poison will creep into your heart and thicken your blood into sludge."

Billy slapped Faelan's hand away with what little strength he had left.

"Don't bother with your fancy diagnosis. I know it's an infection. You got any alcohol or Betadine? Or some fairy medicine from those old stories?"

Faelan gave a hollow laugh, a sound like dry branches cracking.

"Fairy medicine? Healing magic?" Faelan shook his head as he returned to the fire. "Whisperwood is not a playground for holy priests. In this forest of exile, there is only one remedy for a rotting human wound like yours."

Faelan drew his thick-bodied hunting dagger with its broad blade.

Without hesitation, he thrust the steel blade directly into the glowing embers of the campfire.

Billy's eyes widened.

His chest immediately began pounding.

"Hey... Elf guy," Billy choked out, his primitive instincts screaming danger. "What... what are you doing with that hot knife?"

"Cleaning out the rot," Faelan replied flatly, his back turned to Billy as he blew on the embers to make them burn hotter. "Then sealing your blood vessels before you bleed out."

"Are you insane?!" Billy shouted, his voice breaking with panic. "You're going to iron me! You're burning my flesh alive, you idiot!"

"Your choice is simple, Human," Faelan cut in as he picked up a dry tree branch about the thickness of a big toe from the pile of firewood. He tossed it into Billy's lap. "Let your wound rot until you die raving tonight, or burn the flesh now and give yourself a chance to live long enough to see dawn. Bite the wood. Don't bite your own tongue when you scream."

Billy stared at the piece of wood in his lap, then at the blade inside the fire, which was beginning to glow orange-red.

Cold sweat poured down his temples.

His memories drifted back to his childhood beneath the overpass.

He remembered stepping on a rusty thumbtack and having an old scavenger clean the wound with kerosene and the glowing end of a clove cigarette. The pain had knocked him unconscious for two days.

And this time, the wound was in his abdomen, where his internal organs were packed together.

Billy clenched his trembling fists.

Instead of putting the wood between his teeth, he snatched it up and threw it back into the campfire.

Plop.

The wood immediately burned to ash.

Faelan turned around, one eyebrow raised as he stared at the insane human boy.

"You refuse?"

"I'm not some horse-drawn carriage horse that needs a stick shoved in its mouth," Billy hissed sharply.

He crawled forward one step, sat cross-legged directly in front of the fire, and gripped the rough limestone floor with both palms until his knuckles turned white.

"Do it now before I lose my nerve. Hurry the hell up!"

Faelan fell silent for several seconds, staring at Billy with an unreadable expression.

In his homeland, even the toughest Elven soldiers would ask for mandrake-leaf anesthetic before undergoing wound cauterization.

Yet this thin human child was facing the pain with his eyes wide open.

"Good," Faelan said coldly. "Let's see how tough a street dog's hide really is."

Faelan pulled the dagger from the embers.

The steel tip glowed bright red, hissing against the air with the smell of burning metal.

Without warning, Faelan dropped to one knee beside Billy. His left hand pressed the young man's shoulder firmly against the cave floor while his right hand guided the glowing blade straight toward Billy's abdominal wound.

SSSSSSSSSHHH!

The smell of burning human flesh immediately filled the cave, mixing with white-gray steam hissing from Billy's skin.

"NMMMMMPH!"

Billy's eyes bulged wide, the blood vessels in his sclera nearly bursting.

Every muscle in his body went rigid as stone.

The pain that tore through him was so immense, so primal, it felt as though an iron rod from hell had been driven into his stomach and stirred through the flesh.

Billy did not scream.

He locked his jaw so tightly that his teeth rattled.

Fresh blood began flowing from his gums, torn open by the force of his own clenched teeth. His fingers clawed at the limestone floor, grinding his nails until they broke and leaving bloody scratches across the stone.

"Insane..." Faelan murmured softly over the hiss of burning flesh.

His silver eyes remained fixed on Billy's face.

The human boy did not close his eyes.

In the midst of agony powerful enough to shatter an adult's sanity, Billy stared straight into Faelan's pupils.

His gaze was wild, blazing with anger and absolute determination.

He refused to submit.

Refused to beg for mercy.

Refused to die.

SSSSHHH...

Faelan pulled the dagger away.

The gaping stab wound that had been oozing pus was now sealed beneath a layer of charred black crust, forcibly sealing the infection and stopping the bleeding.

Billy's body immediately went limp.

The tension drained from every muscle, and he collapsed onto his side, sprawled across the stone with his chest heaving wildly and his breaths coming in broken gasps.

Sweat soaked his entire body as though he had just been dragged from the bottom of a river.

"Hah... hah... hah..." Billy panted, his vision spinning, but his consciousness still intact.

The corners of his bloodied mouth curled into a weak grin.

"That's... all your iron's got?"

Faelan did not respond to the joke.

The Elf slowly stood, sheathed his now-cool dagger, then looked down at his own hand, the palm that had held Billy's shoulder.

It was still wet with the young man's cold sweat.

A long silence settled over the cave, broken only by the crackle of the fire and Billy's breathing as it slowly steadied.

"Rest," Faelan finally said.

His tone was no longer as sharp as before.

"You've proven that you're not a burden who dies easily."

One day passed in silence.

Outside the cave, a violent storm swept through Whisperwood, concealing their presence beneath the roar of rain hammering against the forest canopy.

Billy spent most of his time in a deep sleep as his body naturally recovered. His fever gradually subsided, replaced by an overwhelming hunger and a throbbing pain in his abdomen, now covered by a hard, black burn scar.

Toward sunset the following day, Faelan tossed a lump of smoked, dry meat onto Billy's chest.

"Eat," Faelan said as he inspected his bowstring. "We'll move when the fog comes down."

Billy slowly sat up.

His movements were still stiff, but his body felt considerably lighter.

He grabbed the dried meat and bit into it greedily. It was as tough as a rubber tire, but to his empty stomach, it tasted like the most luxurious meal in the world.

"My pen," Billy said between bites, fixing Faelan with a sharp stare. "Give it back."

Faelan reached into his cloak, pulled out the Fate Pen, which still looked cold and lifeless, and tossed it into Billy's lap.

"That thing is useless in the hands of someone who cannot channel their life essence," Faelan said flatly. "But the symbol on its handle... that's the emblem of the Valerius Kingdom from four centuries ago. How could a street rat like you possess it?"

Billy slipped the metal pen back into the pocket of his torn jacket and let out a long sigh.

"I already told you. My grandfather gave it to me," Billy replied as he swallowed the last piece of tough meat. "He always said it was our family's lucky charm. But back in Jakarta, this lucky charm could never pay the rent."

Faelan snorted softly, about to comment on the human's ridiculous terminology, when his words suddenly caught in his throat.

Faelan's pointed ears twitched rapidly, catching a low-frequency vibration in the air.

His silver eyes widened.

"What is it?" Billy whispered, noticing the sudden change in the Elf's expression. "Faelan?"

"Don't speak," Faelan hissed sharply.

His movements instantly became alert. He knelt near the cave entrance and pressed his palm against the stone wall.

Suddenly, the evening wind blowing through the gaps in the rocks carried an overpowering scent.

Hot sulfur.

Burned, rotting flesh.

And the heavy, pungent smell of rusted iron.

The stench was so sharp that Billy's eyes began to sting.

AWOOOOOOOOO... GRRRRRRR!

A rough, heavy howl thundered from somewhere in the distant valley.

It was not the howl of an ordinary wolf.

It was the echoing cry of a massive beast mixed with the hiss of black magic.

Then came the vibration.

DUM. DUM. DUM.

The limestone cave walls trembled faintly.

Dust and small pebbles rained down from the stalactite-covered ceiling.

It was not an earthquake.

It was the pounding of heavily armored feet marching in great numbers, moving across the valley floor directly beneath the hill where their cave was hidden.

Faelan drew a black-feathered arrow from his quiver, then turned toward Billy with his jaw rigid.

"They're here," Faelan whispered coldly.

"The Malakor vanguard."