Bloodbound Oath: Between Realms
Chapter 48: The Well’s Seal

Chapter 48: The Well’s Seal

"Ugh..."

Sollivan slowly opened his eyes and groaned from the intense pain he felt. He looked at the illuminated ceiling of the vault with blurred vision, then turned his head weakly to his right, where a mutilated human corpse lay stretched out.

He wasn’t surprised or frightened. He waited calmly until his vision cleared, and then he saw Sven’s dead body clearly. He sighed in pain. ’Good thing you’re dead.’ He turned his head back and stared at the ceiling, exhaling heavily with a heart burdened by mixed emotions.

’I survived death this time.’ He assessed his condition, but the overwhelming pain radiating from everywhere made it impossible for him to understand his situation precisely. Slowly, he moved his hands, raised them high, and examined them under the light. That was when he noticed his entire body was covered in a thick, sticky black layer, resembling a smooth armor. It pulsed faintly with a dim blue glow.

Despite the bizarre sight, he didn’t panic. On the contrary, he smiled strangely, expressing immense relief.

"My friend, you saved me. This is truly reassuring."

But he received no clear response from Noctis—only a faint, barely audible whimper.

"Alright, don’t try to communicate. I know you’re severely injured. Take all the blood that’s spilled from my body, nourish yourself, and rest."

After saying that, he wanted to lie back and rest his exhausted body, but then he remembered something that made his muscles tense.

"Devlin!"

Despite the excruciating pain, he quickly moved, dragging himself with his hands toward the small boy lying nearby.

"Please be okay. Please be okay."

His movements were slow, and he felt sharp stings all over his body, yet he didn’t stop until he reached Devlin. He looked at him with sorrowful eyes, silently mourning his condition. Gently, he watched the boy’s chest rise and fall with each breath, and when he confirmed he was still breathing, he exhaled in relief, releasing the immense anxiety that had built up inside him.

"Thank the gods for this."

He praised his creator, then carefully adjusted Devlin’s position to prevent him from choking on the blood pooled in his mouth. However, that was the only thing he could do. He had no proper equipment, tools, or even enough strength to lift him from the cold floor.

"Hang in there. I’ll find a way to get us out of here."

Sollivan’s heart burned with fierce determination. Then, with urgency, he dragged himself toward Sven’s corpse and stared at it with icy coldness and indescribable malice. This man was the reason they had suffered so much—they had almost literally lost their lives. Not to mention, Sollivan had reached his limit, his blood nearly boiling over from sheer rage.

As he recalled the events, he pondered with confusion.

’What was the reason, I wonder? My blood almost awakened on its own. Was it because my body had reached its limit?’

He thought carefully, reviewing the information he had read about the bloodline of the Kornavar. Then he remembered—the blood could awaken spontaneously under special circumstances. But if the body wasn’t strong enough to endure the awakening process, it would explode.

When he recalled the intense burning sensation and the violent churning of his blood, his heart pounded with fear. Fortunately, his blood hadn’t fully awakened. The incident had merely been like a surge of Indaria, reminding him of the truth of his bloodline.

’Even though my blood has calmed down now, it still shows clear signs that it will awaken soon. I need to prepare myself. It’s better if I awaken it myself at the right time rather than leaving it to chance.’

He steeled his resolve, cleared his mind, and then slowly picked up the golden sword lying beside him. Without hesitation, he stabbed Sven’s corpse in the head. He twisted the blade violently, turning the boiled brain into mush. Then he pulled the sword out and stared at Sven’s body, speaking coldly.

"You’d better stay dead."

His brutal act wasn’t just to vent his anger—he wanted to make sure Sven stayed dead. In truth, the life force of Arcane Masters was incredibly strong. Unless they suffered fatal damage—like a pierced heart, destroyed brain, or annihilated internal organs—they wouldn’t die from a simple stab wound from a non-Auraxis-enhanced weapon.

That was why all attacks from Arcane Masters were infused with Auraxis energy. Ordinary injuries could heal quickly, but wounds tainted with an enemy’s Auraxis energy hindered the healing process.

He didn’t stay idle. After taking a quick glance at his shattered wheelchair, he crawled toward the remaining soldiers, moving with difficulty across the debris and chunks of flesh scattered on the floor.

When he reached the corpses near the explosion’s epicenter, he stabbed the heads of any that were partially intact to eliminate any unexpected threats. The ones that were already mutilated or destroyed, he ignored.

But as he stabbed the half-charred skull of one corpse, he heard a faint groan.

His eyebrows furrowed, and his heart pounded with fear. Slowly, he turned his head toward a specific part of the hall, where a burned soldier lay. He observed coldly as the man’s body trembled, his breathing labored and ragged.

With caution, Sollivan crawled toward him, checking his surroundings multiple times before reaching him. When he looked at the soldier, he recognized him—he was the one who had severed Darnell’s hand earlier. Because of that, he hadn’t joined the final assault and had stayed slightly farther from the explosion’s center.

Yet his condition was still terrible. His remaining hand was burned, his face and body disfigured. But he had just enough strength to open his bloodshot eyes, staring dazedly at the ceiling.

Then he noticed a blurry human figure looming over him. His cracked lips moved, and he spoke in a broken voice.

"Help... me..."

But he received no answer. The only response was the mysterious figure moving—raising something long that glinted with a faint light. Before he could understand what was happening, he felt something cold touch his scorched forehead.

Then, he lost consciousness completely.

Sollivan looked at the small smile on the burned soldier’s face and furrowed his brows in confusion before pulling the sword out and continuing his crawl.

Despite the pain, after moving a fair distance, he noticed the black layer of Noctis covering his body had lessened his suffering, preventing his wounds from reopening and making movement easier. In fact, he suspected he might recover faster if Noctis remained wrapped around him like this.

With genuine gratitude, he said, "Thank you, my friend. I appreciate this. You’ve helped me loyally."

After expressing his thanks, he regained his composure and looked at the last remaining corpse near the massive gate. His gaze turned icy as he stared at Darnell’s charred body—though a hint of regret and sorrow lingered.

Truthfully, he hadn’t truly wanted to kill Darnell. They shared a painful past, both betrayed by the Empire, making them comrades in suffering.

After observing from a distance and confirming Darnell wasn’t moving, he crawled toward him hesitantly, trying to make as little noise as possible. When he stood beside him, his eyes widened in fear when he realized—Darnell was still breathing.

He wanted to back away, but he quickly calmed himself, refusing to let fear cloud his judgment. He swiftly inspected Darnell’s body and noticed his left arm was shattered from colliding with the gate, while his right hand was burned—the skin and armor fused together. His hair was partially scorched, his face peeled and disfigured. Yet his eyes, nose, and legs remained mostly unharmed.

As he examined him, he spotted the edge of a golden coin embedded in Darnell’s chest armor, blocked by something solid beneath it from piercing his lung.

Thanks to his sharp memory, he recalled that Darnell had placed the small box containing the Celestial Moonflower in that exact spot. In truth, if not for that box, the coin would have killed him instantly—his body couldn’t withstand any more injuries. He was barely clinging to life.

But despite Darnell’s pitiful state, Sollivan didn’t feel safe.

’Is he pretending to be unconscious, waiting for the right moment to kill me?’

After a brief hesitation, he raised his sword, intending to stab Darnell in the head and end his suffering. But he hesitated.

Then, a second time, he prepared to drive the blade in—but stopped abruptly. Not out of hesitation, but because another thought crossed his mind.

He set the sword aside, then slowly summoned the Black Book. He opened it to the first page, filled with writing, and lay on his right side, holding the book with his right hand. With his left, he fearfully placed his palm over Darnell’s head.

When Darnell showed no reaction, Sollivan sighed in relief. Then, inhaling deeply, he began to read the living script before him.

*"..."*

His words turned into eerie whispers.

The moment he finished, the pages of the book darkened, turning into a thick, inky blackness that seeped out a chilling cold. The darkness swirled like murky water, then condensed into a thin black chain that shot straight into Darnell’s forehead.

Strangely, Sollivan could see the chain inside Darnell’s mind. Before he could comprehend how the process worked, he heard a powerful thump—and for a moment, he hallucinated the chain coiling around Darnell’s heart, tightening like a noose.

"Aaaahhh!"

Darnell’s eyes snapped open, and he screamed in agony, curling into himself like a newborn. His eyes whitened, and before he could process what was happening, he lost consciousness again.

Despite this, Sollivan didn’t remove his left hand. The moment he felt the sealing ritual complete, his palm burned sharply, forcing him to yank it back.

When he looked at it, he saw a small black tattoo forming on his palm—a lock entwined by a serpent-like chain.

He flexed his hand in confusion, and without understanding how, a set of simple instructions appeared in his mind, explaining the workings of the Well’s Seal

Through them, he learned he could:

Copy the control seal and share authority with another.

Extract the seal entirely and transfer it to someone else (losing control over the sealed individual in the process).

He opened his palm, and from the black tattoo emerged a small black square bearing the same lock-and-chain symbol.

"Hah..."

His head throbbed violently, and blood gushed from his nose. The sealing process had been mentally exhausting, draining his strength.

He quickly retracted the seal and clutched his head, resisting the urge to pass out. Before the book disappeared from his hand, he used his remaining mental energy to summon the last bottle of strengthening pills.

Stimulating his bloodline, he began swallowing them like candy, desperate to regain even a fraction of his strength.

He staggered a few steps away from Darnell and collapsed onto his back, resting. But he didn’t let his guard down—his problems wouldn’t end until he left the vault with his spoils. In truth, he remained wary of someone arriving to ruin everything.

After about fifteen minutes of rest, having recovered slightly, he decided to get up and gather his loot.

But then—he heard a faint groan.

Darnell’s body twitched.

Sollivan slowly turned his head and saw Darnell open his eyes, propping himself up weakly with his less-injured arm. Dazed, he looked around—until his gaze landed on Sollivan.

Sollivan grinned foolishly and waved calmly.

Darnell’s heart boiled. His already disfigured face twisted further, veins bulging beneath his peeling skin as if ready to burst.

With a voice dripping with hatred, he spat:

"You... crippled bastard."

Summoning the last of his strength, he pushed himself up, standing unsteadily. He couldn’t maintain his balance for long, nearly falling—but his will refused to break.

He took one step forward.

Then another.

His eyes remained locked on Sollivan, filled with the desire to tear him apart.

When only three steps separated them.