Legacy of the Mageblood

The three men wasted no time leaving The OX restaurant, each hurrying back to their respective strongholds in Bristol to report what had just happened.

Eddie Ustair, a Blood Viscount, was a force to be reckoned with—his power easily rivaled that of a high-level mage. And yet, Fanmuir had blocked his full-strength strike without even moving. Not only that, but with a mere flick of his hand, he had stripped the vampire of his dignity in an instant.

As Olivia stared at Fanmuir, her expression was a mix of awe and bewilderment. His power was already at the level of a Grand Magus—like her great-grandfather. A Grand Magus capable of instantly casting high-level defensive spells. But he was so young! How could that even be possible?

She didn't yet realize that Fanmuir's strength far exceeded that of a mere Grand Magus. If she did, she could hardly imagine what kind of shock she would feel.

The icy winter night finally pulled Olivia from her spiraling thoughts. The encounter at The OX had confirmed what she feared—the three great magical families of Britain had already fully invaded Bristol.

Her own family, the Fairchilds, must have been in dire straits. Their members had been forced to retreat into the ancient fortress of Cliff Castle, activating its ancient magic defenses as a last desperate stand against the invaders.

A deep sense of dread seized Olivia, and an overwhelming urgency welled up inside her. She turned to Fanmuir, her voice laced with desperation.

"I need to go home—right now!"

Fanmuir met her anxious gaze with unwavering confidence. He had already come to the same conclusion after what had happened earlier.

"Don't worry," he assured her. "We're leaving for Cliff Castle right now."

The dark silhouettes of rolling hills stretched across the night sky, their jagged outlines cutting deep into the horizon.

Nestled within a valley, the towering structure of Cliff Castle stood like a silent guardian—ancient, mighty, and unmoving. It loomed over the land with an air of quiet authority.

"Hmm?"

As they drew closer, Fanmuir's curiosity deepened. A powerful energy field surrounded the entire castle. Even he had to admit—it was intriguing. The Western world, it seemed, harbored a deep and mysterious reservoir of magic.

Though it was long past midnight, the Fairchilds had no time for rest. Glowing lights flickered through the castle's narrow windows, while armored sentries moved methodically along the high stone walls, never pausing in their vigilance.

Every detail pointed to one undeniable truth—the castle was in a state of full lockdown.

Cliff Castle had only one entrance: a massive arched gateway. But now, its towering iron doors were firmly shut, sealing off all access.

Hand in hand, Fanmuir and Olivia approached the entrance.

High above, the looming watchtowers bathed them in bright, unforgiving light—making their presence known to all within the fortress.

By sheer coincidence, Olivia's parents happened to be supervising the night patrol on the castle walls, allowing her and Fanmuir to enter Cliff Castle without delay.

Her father, Kenneth, was the very image of an English gentleman—tall and sturdy, with a face lined by fatigue and stubble. Whether his weariness stemmed from the ongoing crisis plaguing the Fairchild family or the strain of excessive magical exertion, it was hard to say.

Her mother, Isabella, despite the dire circumstances, still radiated an unmistakable elegance. Even without elaborate styling or fine attire, her every movement exuded grace and nobility.

Under normal circumstances, seeing their beloved daughter after such a long absence should have been a moment of overwhelming joy. Yet, there was no trace of happiness on their faces—only an icy solemnity, their eyes clouded with grief and hopelessness.

"Olivia, why did you come back? We told you not to!"

A parent's love knows no bounds. Their own fates were sealed, and if the castle was truly doomed, so be it. But Olivia, unarmed with magic to protect herself, had no reason to throw her life away as well. The Fairchild family could not afford to lose its last hope. Kenneth and Isabella's hearts ached with despair.

Though her parents offered no warm words of welcome, Olivia only felt more sorrowful. Her eyes welled up as she firmly declared, "I am a Fairchild. If my family stands, I stand. If it falls, I fall with it!"

Kenneth sighed heavily. How could he bear to reprimand his daughter? But the truth was undeniable—there was no saving the Fairchild family now. And Olivia, lacking the power to fight, had only come back to meet a tragic end.

With a weary heart, Isabella gently pulled Olivia into an embrace, running her fingers through her golden hair as she whispered, "My dear, sweetie…"

"Is this the friend you met in France?"

Amidst their intense conversation, they had completely overlooked Fanmuir, who had been standing quietly to the side. It was only Isabella, ever perceptive, who noticed him at last and turned to inquire about his identity.

Realizing her mistake, Olivia hurriedly introduced Fanmuir to her parents.

When she explained that he had miraculously healed her and awakened her as a fire-element mage, Kenneth and Isabella found it almost impossible to believe. How could someone so young possess such astonishing abilities?

But as Olivia recounted what had happened at The OX restaurant, their skepticism deepened. Could this unassuming young man truly be as powerful as a Grand Magus?

Then, with a simple flick of her hand, Olivia summoned a flame, its flickering light casting dancing shadows across the room.

Even though they had not witnessed Fanmuir's methods firsthand, the sight of their daughter wielding magic—something once thought impossible—was proof enough.

If even Antonio Fairchild, the legendary Grand Magus, had failed to help her, yet this young man had done so effortlessly, what more evidence did they need?

Fanmuir's arrival couldn't have come at a better time for the Fairchild family. At the brink of despair, his presence was like a beacon of hope. Kenneth and Isabella's eyes gleamed with excitement—relief washing over them in the midst of their crisis.

Wasting no time, Kenneth quickly excused himself from his daughter and rushed off to report the news to his father, Nathaniel Fairchild. Meanwhile, Isabella, understanding the gravity of their guest's importance, did everything she could to ensure Fanmuir was well taken care of. She fussed over him with such reverence that Olivia couldn't help but feel both amused and exasperated. Yet, beneath it all, she was filled with an immense sense of pride for Fanmuir.

The moment news spread through the castle that a powerful ally had arrived—someone reputed to have the strength of a Grand Magus—Nathaniel Fairchild could no longer sit still. Eagerly, he urged Kenneth to bring him to meet this so-called Grand Magus from France. The Fairchild family needed a powerful figure like Fanmuir now more than ever.

As the current patriarch of the Fairchild family, Nathaniel Fairchild was himself an Ice-element Grand Magus. But days of relentless strain had taken their toll. Though just past seventy, he looked far older—his once-vigorous frame now frail, his face deeply lined with fatigue and sorrow from the ongoing calamities that plagued his family.

However, when he finally laid eyes on Fanmuir, his initial reaction was disappointment. The young man looked far too ordinary—his features unremarkable, his presence lacking any trace of magical energy.

"Young man, thank you for aiding the Fairchild family," Nathaniel said, his tone polite but devoid of enthusiasm. It was understandable—under such dire circumstances, he had little time for pleasantries.

Sensing his father's doubt, Kenneth was just about to explain the incredible changes that had taken place with Olivia when, suddenly, his elder brother, Benjamin, burst into the room, his face alight with joy.

"Father! Lord André Alexander has received our distress call and has traveled all the way from the Alps to aid us!"

André Alexander—Antonio Fairchild's lifelong friend and a legendary figure in the Western world.

Hearing this name, Kenneth's excitement surged. He momentarily forgot about both Fanmuir and his daughter, overcome with relief.

As for Nathaniel Fairchild, his emotions ran even deeper. Tears welled in his eyes as he gripped his ornate magic staff, his hands trembling with emotion. Without hesitation, he hurried toward the castle gate, issuing urgent instructions as he went.

"Summon everyone immediately! We must welcome our most honored elder with the highest ceremony!"

The silent night was soon filled with the thunderous roar of celebratory cannons. Magical fireworks burst into the sky, painting the darkness with dazzling brilliance. The once-dim fortress was now illuminated with a warm glow, and the pathway leading to the inner stronghold was lined with members of the Fairchild family, all gathered to extend their grandest welcome.

As Nathaniel Fairchild led him into the castle, a strikingly vigorous old man—well into his seventies or eighties—walked with steady confidence, exuding an undeniable presence.

Standing amidst the welcoming crowd, Fanmuir observed in silence, a hint of intrigue in his eyes. He hadn't expected to cross paths with someone from the Alexander family here.

"A peak Divine Martial (Void-Breaking) level warrior, on the verge of advancing to the Legendary Martial Sovereign rank. His strength surpasses even that of Caesar Alexander—he must either be Caesar's elder or at least his peer." Fanmuir silently assessed André Alexander's formidable power, deep in thought.

Curious about the grand welcome for André Alexander, Fanmuir turned to Olivia, who was so overwhelmed with excitement that she seemed to have forgotten everything else. "Is this elder truly that powerful? What is his connection to your family, and why is he helping you?"

"Of course, Great-Grandfather André Alexander is incredibly powerful!" Olivia's voice brimmed with admiration. "He's a legendary warrior of the Western world—stronger than even my great-grandfather Antonio! He and my great-grandfather were the closest of friends."

That night, a rare sense of joy filled the castle. The suffocating anxiety that had gripped the Fairchild family for so long seemed to dissipate with André Alexander's arrival. Even Kenneth and Isabella, who had been gravely worried about Olivia's return, no longer blamed her. Meanwhile, Fanmuir found himself completely sidelined. Watching the crowd shower André Alexander with admiration, he couldn't help but laugh to himself—he, a direct member of the Alexander lineage, was being left out in the cold! Who would believe such irony?

Of course, the commotion within the castle did not go unnoticed. The three families besieging Cliff Castle—the vampires, the werewolves, and the mages—had been paying close attention. Since André Alexander's arrival, Bristol had become a magnet for an increasing number of supernatural beings. More and more figures lurked in the shadows, watching, waiting. Yet, no direct confrontations had occurred. If anything, the city had become unnervingly quiet, as if the entire region were holding its breath, anticipating an imminent storm.

The eerie calm only heightened the tension.

For someone like Fanmuir, who preferred to stay out of unnecessary trouble, this situation suited him perfectly. Now that André Alexander had become the center of attention, he could finally enjoy some peace. That said, Kenneth later explained the truth to Nathaniel Fairchild, who, upon learning of Fanmuir's abilities, personally sought him out for a visit.

Meanwhile, deep within the castle's underground chamber, an old man, his frail body hunched with age, ran trembling fingers over an ancient box. The box's surface was etched with cryptic runes and intricate symbols. His breath hitched as two tears spilled onto the weathered wood.

Regret and sorrow twisted his features.

Softly, he whispered, "Father… If not for me, you wouldn't have left us like this. And the Fairchild family… wouldn't have fallen to such despair."

Nathaniel Fairchild, the frail old man clutching the mysterious artifact, was overwhelmed with sorrow.

The box in his hands was something he had discovered on a remote island in the Dover Strait. Covered in ancient inscriptions and mystical patterns, it was sealed with an exceptionally powerful magical barrier. Nathaniel had immediately sensed its significance, but he was not the only one intrigued—his father, Antonio Fairchild, had also recognized its extraordinary nature. The inscriptions indicated that this box was an artifact dating back two to three thousand years, a relic belonging to the mythical Grand Magus, Bertram—a legendary figure whom no living soul had ever met, existing only in arcane folklore.

The day they unsealed the box, Nathaniel, Antonio, and the family's key members gathered, eager to uncover its secrets. However, they never could have anticipated the disastrous consequences.

The moment Antonio channeled his spiritual energy to break the magical seal, an unfathomable abyss-like force erupted from the box, nearly draining him of all the magical power he had accumulated over a lifetime.

Yet, despite the cost, the box was opened. Inside, it contained three treasures of immeasurable value:

A tome containing Bertram's magical records—a legacy of untold knowledge.A crystal vial filled with crimson liquid, labeled as Leviathan's Sea Dragon Essence.The Bloodborne Staff, one of the Thirteen Sacred Relics of the Vampire Clan.

The Leviathan Essence was said to contain the lifeblood of the mythical Leviathan, a legendary sea dragon from Middle Eastern mythology. This essence was imbued with the infinite, chaotic power of the ocean, an energy both awe-inspiring and unpredictable.

The Bloodborne Staff, originally known as the Water God's Staff, was a masterpiece of elven craftsmanship, forged from the sacred branches of the Tree of Life. In its original form, the staff held divine healing properties, capable of restoring stamina and mending wounds.

However, it later fell into the hands of one of the Thirteen Blood Sovereigns, who placed upon it a powerful curse, corrupting it into a dark artifact. No longer a tool of healing, it instead awakened latent powers within vampires, enhancing their abilities in unknown ways.

Yet, its power was not limited to vampires alone—it could unlock hidden potential in humans and animals as well. However, this came at a great cost. The transformation it induced was unstable, often leading to chaos, madness, or even corruption.

Thus, the once-sacred artifact became a double-edged relic, both divine and cursed—a tool of salvation and damnation alike.

These three artifacts were priceless treasures, coveted by all. However, Grand Magus Antonio Fairchild, his magical energy completely depleted, no longer had the strength to claim them. He cast one last, sorrowful glance at the mystical artifact box—then, with a final breath, he passed away.

The Fairchild family had once stood strong, but disaster rarely comes alone. With Antonio's death, long-suppressed dissent and rebellion erupted within the family. Many branch families seized the opportunity to rise in revolt, turning against their kin.

Worse still, these traitors did not stop at mere betrayal. They leaked the news of the family's internal chaos and, more critically, the discovery of legendary artifacts to Britain's three most powerful factions.

For years, the Pembroke Magic Family, the Ustaire Blood Clan, and the Tanley Werewolf Tribe had been coveting the Fairchild family's wealth and its collection of rare magical artifacts. However, Antonio's immense power had always stood as an insurmountable deterrent, keeping them at bay.

But now, everything had changed.

With no legendary powerhouse left to defend the family, these three long-feuding factions did the unthinkable—for the first time in history, they forged an alliance. Their shared greed led them to launch a brutal siege against the Fairchild family, determined to claim:

The family's vast treasures,The Bloodborne Staff (one of the Thirteen Sacred Vampire Relics),And the Leviathan Sea Dragon Essence, an artifact of immeasurable power.

As Nathaniel Fairchild recalled the betrayals, the helplessness of their current predicament, and the overwhelming hatred he bore for their enemies, his aged hands trembled against the surface of the ancient artifact box.

His face twisted with unrelenting fury, his fingers digging into the relic's surface.

Through clenched teeth, he uttered a vow filled with both desperation and defiance:

"May the heavens stand with the Fairchild family!"