A dagger flew past my ear, stabbing itself into the wooden pillar behind me with a violent thud.
Whoosh.
It was cold down here, deep beneath the Riven manor, a place where sunlight never touched the walls.
"Too slow," a voice echoed from the dark.
I gritted my teeth, wiping sweat from my forehead. My lungs burned. My mana core, or whatever that shit was, buzzing with sensation in my chest, felt like it was running on blood.
"Again," the voice commanded.
Darius Riven stepped into the dim light of the mana lamps. My brother.
It felt strange, knowing his name now. For days, he had just been "Brother" or "The scary guy in armour."
But as the adrenaline of the kidnapping faded, the memories of this body had started to settle in like powder in a glass of water.
Darius. The eldest. The protector of the North. In the novel, he was a footnote, a "brave warrior" who died off-screen holding the line while the protagonist escaped the city.
Looking at him now, holding a rack of throwing knives with a face carved from granite, it seemed impossible that such a man was destined to be forgotten.
"I'm out of blood," I wheezed, holding up my hand.
The cut on my palm had already scabbed over, thanks to the passive healing of the system, but the dizziness of blood loss was real.
Darius didn't offer sympathy. His expression didn't even soften.
He kicked a bucket toward me. It spilt something with a dark, thick liquid.
It stank. Animal blood. Pig, maybe? Or cow.
"Then use this," he said.
"The System says you can manipulate 'nearby sources.' You won't always have the luxury of bleeding yourself dry, Gene. If you do that in a real fight, you'll pass out before the enemy dies."
Gene.
Hearing my own name, this body's name, still sent a shock through me. Gene Riven. The second child. Their joy.
The "Coma Kid."
I looked at the bucket.
"It's harder to control blood that isn't mine," I muttered.
"Make it yours," Darius replied, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "The Rift Cult won't wait for you to get comfortable. Liora won't be lucky next time."
Liora. My sister. The illusionist.
The names anchored me. They made this world feel terrifyingly real. These weren't characters in a story anymore. They were people I had to keep alive against a plot written to kill them.
I took a deep breath, extending my hand over the bucket.
Focus.
I didn't try to force it like a telekinetic grip. I tried to feel it. I reached out with that strange sixth sense the System called [Blood Sense]. It helped me connect.
The liquid in the bucket wasn't just red fluid. It was energy. Fading, cooling energy, but it was there.
"Rise," I whispered, mostly out of habit.
The liquid shivered.
A thread of red rose from the bucket, wavering like smoke. It was heavy. Much heavier than my own blood. It fought me, trying to collapse back into the ground.
"Harden it," Darius ordered. "Make a shape."
I clenched my fist. The tendril swirled, expanding into a flat, oscillating disk in front of me.
"Hold it."
Darius raised another knife. He didn't hesitate. He threw it straight at my chest.
Clang.
The knife hit the blood disk. For a second, the liquid held its shape, hard as iron. Then, my concentration slipped. The disk splashed apart, soaking my boots, and the knife clattered to the floor, inches from my toes.
[Skill Proficiency Increased: Blood Manipulation (Level 2)]
"That's good," Darius grunted. "But you flinched. If that was an enemy's blade, you'd be dead."
He walked over, picking up the knife.
"The blood of others resists you," he explained, wiping the blade. "I felt it when you pulled mine in the bedroom. It burns because it's unknown. You have to control it. Riven blood is dominant by nature. Remember that."
He tossed me a towel.
"Clean up. We have a visitor."
I paused, wiping the animal blood from my hands. "Visitor? For me?"
Darius's expression darkened. The calmness of the training session evaporated, replaced by the cold mask of the noble family.
"Commander Vesper. The Royal Envoy."
My stomach dropped.
The Vesper family. In Bloodhound Chronicles, they were the "so-called" rivals of the Rivens. While the Rivens guarded the borders and bled in the mud, the Vespers played politics in the capital. They hated Blood Magic. They were the ones who originally petitioned the King to ban it.
"Why is he here?" I asked.
"Because three dead Cultists were found in an alley with their chests caved in and heads removed," Darius said grimly. "And because rumours are spreading that the 'Coma Child' has awakened. Vesper smells blood in the water. He's here to see if you're a threat... or a demon."
Darius gripped my shoulder, his fingers digging into the muscle.
"Listen to me, Gene. You do not use your power in front of him. You are weak. You are recovering. You are a noble son who knows nothing of fighting. Do you understand?"
"I understand," I said.
"Good. Now put on a clean dress. And try to look pathetic."
Looking pathetic is my speciality.
The Great Hall of the Riven Manor was a testament to the capital's legacy. The banners hanging from the ceiling were tattered at the edges, depicting the Riven crest: a lion biting a sword.
Father sat at the head of the long table. Gerard Riven looked like a king in his own right, broad-shouldered and terrifying, but his hands were resting flat on the table, a sign of forced restraint.
Across from him sat Commander Kaelen Vesper.
He was the opposite of us. Where we were red hair and brute force, Vesper was sleek. He wore the blue and silver uniform of the Royal Guard, polished to a mirror shine. His hair was blonde, tied back into a ponytail, and his eyes were the colour of ice.
He sipped tea as if he weren't sitting in the home of a family he despised.
I walked in, Darius a step behind me. I had changed into a soft, loose robe, making sure to walk with a slight limp.
"Ah," Vesper said, setting his cup down. His voice was smooth, like oil over a blade. " The sleeping prince returns."
Father didn't smile. "Gene. This is Commander Vesper. He has come to offer... condolences for the attack on Liora."
How nice of him.
"An attack," Vesper corrected, turning his gaze to me. It felt like he was scanning me. "That resulted in three very dead heretics. A remarkable feat for a kidnapping victim."
I bowed slightly, keeping my face blank. "I wouldn't know, Commander. I was stabbed and left unconscious for most of it."
"Is that so?" Vesper stood up and walked toward me. He moved with the grace of a person who played fence. "The report indeed said you were stabbed. A gut wound. Yet, you stand here, walking. Breathing as if nothing happened."
"The healers are skilled," Darius interjected, his voice hard.
"Indeed," Vesper smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "But even the best healers need time. Unless... the Riven blood has finally awakened in the youngest son?"
The air in the room grew heavy. This bastard was smart as fuck.
If I admitted to having strong healing, he would suspect Blood Magic. If I denied it, he would ask to see the wound.
"I have stirred nothing but trouble, Commander," I said, forcing a self-deprecating laugh. "I woke up, stumbled into a festival, and got stabbed by a thug. My brother saved me. If not for him, I'd be a corpse again."
Vesper stopped in front of me. He was tall, looming over me.
"May I?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He reached out, his hand hovering over my stomach.
Darius stepped forward, his hand going to his sword hilt. "Commander-"
"It is fine, Darius," Father said. His voice was calm, but it carried a warning deep within the bass. "Let the Commander see. We have nothing to hide."
I held my breath as Vesper's gloved hand touched my robe. He pulled the dress aside.
The bandage was there. I had wrapped it fresh this morning.
Vesper peeled the bandage back.
Beneath it, the skin was pale. There was a scar, a pink, jagged line where the knife had gutted me. But it was a scar. A wound like that should have been raw, stitched, and weeping blood. It shouldn't have been a sealed scar in less than twenty-four hours.
Vesper stared at it. His thumb brushed the scar tissue.
"Remarkable," he whispered. "A fatal wound. Closed in a day."
"I told you," I said, trying to keep my heartbeat steady. "We Rivens are built differently."
Vesper looked up. His eyes pierced into mine. He was using mana. I could feel it, a cold, probing pressure against my mind, trying to sense my core.
[Warning: External Mana Probe Detected.]
[System Passive: Mental Fortress (Level 1) Resisting...]
I gritted my teeth, keeping my expression pained but confused.
"Tough," Vesper repeated. "Or perhaps... unnatural."
He let go of my robe and stepped back, wiping his glove as if he had touched something filthy.
"The King is worried, Gerard," Vesper said, turning back to Father. "The Rifts are behaving weirdly. The Cult is active. And now, your son wakes up with miraculous vitality on the same night the Cult strikes. The timing is... poetic."
"What are you implying, Vesper?" Father stood up. The chair scraped loudly against the stone floor.
"I am implying," Vesper said coolly, "that the Ban on Blood Magic exists for a reason. It corrupts. It calls to the Void. If your son has awakened a forbidden power, he is not a noble. He is a ticking bomb."
"My son is a Riven," Father growled. The temperature in the room seemed to rise. "And he is under my protection."
"For now," Vesper adjusted his cuffs. "But the Academy starts in two weeks. The King has requested that Gene attend."
"The Academy?" Darius snapped. "He just woke up from a coma. He is in no condition-"
"It is a request," Vesper cut him off, his eyes flashing. "From the King. To ensure the boy is... properly trained. And monitored."
He looked at me one last time. A look of pure predatory assessment.
"If he is truly just a lucky boy with strong vitality, he will thrive. If he is something else... well, the Academy has ways of revealing the truth."
Vesper bowed mockingly.
"I will take my leave. Do not walk me out. I know the way."
He turned and strode out of the hall, his boots clicking rhythmically.
Silence descended on the room.
As soon as the heavy doors slammed shut, Father sat back into his chair, rubbing his temples.
"The Academy," Darius spat. "It's a death sentence. The Vespers control the board. They'll put him in the duels on day one. They want to force him to use his magic."
"I know," Father said wearily.
I looked between them. The Academy.
In the novel, the Academy arc was where the protagonist shone. It was a place of tournaments, forest dives, and political intrigue. But for an extra? For a Riven?
It was a pit of hell.
"If I go," I said slowly, "they will find out."
"If you don't go," Father said, looking at me, "they will declare us traitors for disobeying a Royal Decree. They will send an army to our doorstep."
He stood up and walked over to me, placing a massive hand on my shoulder.
"You have two weeks, Gene."
I looked at Darius. He nodded grimly.
"Two weeks," Darius said. "To turn you from a novice into something that can survive the snakes without showing your fangs."
"And if I can't?" I asked.
Darius smirked, the expression lacking any humour.
"Then you die. And this time, I won't be there to catch the blade."
I looked down at my hand. The scar on my palm from the training was already fading.
Two weeks.
To master a forbidden art. To learn how to fight. To prepare for a school where everyone wanted me dead.
I clenched my fist.
"Fine," I said. "Let's get back to the vault."
Father looked at me, surprised by the tone. It wasn't the voice of a scared boy. It was the voice of someone who knew the plot and was tired of being a victim.
"We have work to do," I said.
[SYSTEM ALERT]
[NEW EVENT GENERATED: SURVIVE THE ACADEMY]
[OBJECTIVE 1: Reach Level 15 before enrollment.]
[OBJECTIVE 2: Master 'Blood Hardening' to Intermediate Level.]
[OBJECTIVE 3: Do not reveal your Affinity to the Royal Guard.]
[REWARD: ???]
[FAILURE PENALTY: DEATH / EXTERMINATION OF RIVEN HOUSE]
I stared at the blue screen floating in front of Father's worried face.
"Extermination," I whispered.
The game had truly begun.
Later that night, I sat in my room. The moon was high.
I hadn't gone back to sleep. I couldn't.
There was a soft knock on the door.
"Come in."
Lucia peeked her head in. She was wearing a nightgown, her red hair loose. She looked small. Fragile.
"Can I... sleep here?" she asked, her voice trembling. "Like we used to? Before..."
Before the coma.
I didn't have the memories, but my body reacted. A pang of protectiveness hit my chest.
"Yeah," I said, moving over on the massive bed. "Come here, shrimp."
She scurried in and curled up under the blanket, grabbing my arm and holding it tight.
"I saw him," she whispered after a while. "The Commander. He looked scary."
"He's just a man in a stupid suit," I lied.
"Gene?"
"Yeah?"
"Are we going to die?"
The question hung in the air.
In the original novel? Yes. We were all dead men walking.
But the original novel didn't have me. It didn't have a Blood Manipulator who knew the future.
I looked at the System screen still hovering in the corner of my vision.
[FAILURE PENALTY: EXTERMINATION]
I squeezed her hand.
"No," I said firmly. "I'm not going to let that happen. Even if I have to bleed this whole kingdom dry."
Lucia fell asleep minutes later, her breathing evening out.
I lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
Two weeks.
I closed my eyes and whispered into the dark.
"System. Enter Simulation Mode."
[SIMULATION MODE UNLOCKED via LEVEL 10]
[WARNING: PAIN IN SIMULATION IS REFLECTED MENTALLY.]
[START?]
"Start."
The world dissolved into red.
It was time to grind.