SPIRITBINDER: The Boy Without A Mark
Chapter 32: Collection

Chapter 32: Collection

The night stretched long and restless for Morvane. Sleep eluded him as his thoughts circled back to the old blind man’s cryptic prophecy. Each word replayed in his mind, a riddle weaving itself into the unknown path ahead.

As dawn painted the sky in soft hues, Morvane’s door creaked open, and Medas stepped inside. His sharp eyes took in Morvane’s weary posture.

"You didn’t sleep," Medas observed, his voice calm yet filled with quiet authority. "What were you doing in the middle of the night? I saw you leaving the grounds."

Caught off guard, Morvane hesitated before replying, "I... went to the cemetery. There was an incident." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "After that, I wandered to a nearby village for a bit. That’s all."

Medas narrowed his eyes, sensing there was more to the story. "And you thought it was wise to go without telling me?" he said sternly. "You know how dangerous it is, especially when your power isn’t fully under your control."

Before Morvane could respond, Drevon materialized out of thin air, a mischievous grin spread across his face. "Oh, relax, King Medas. I was there to keep him company. No harm done, right?"

Medas merely sighed, choosing not to dignify Drevon’s antics with a response. Instead, he turned back to Morvane. "How many times did I tell you, you don’t have to call me king not unless you’re my guard or server. Also, Crimson is waiting for you outside to start your training. Get up, eat, and be ready. Don’t keep him waiting."

"Yes, sir," Morvane replied, grateful for the change in topic.

After a quick breakfast, Morvane headed to the training grounds, where Crimson stood waiting, his imposing figure silhouetted against the rising sun.

"Let’s begin," Crimson said curtly, tossing a practice sword to Morvane.

Before they could start, Drevon appeared again, leaning lazily against a tree. "Oh, so we’re doing combat training? How quaint," he sneered. "Really, Morvane, shouldn’t you be focusing on your magic instead of... this?" He gestured dismissively at the sword.

Crimson’s expression darkened. "If you’re going to stand there and mock, Drevon, leave. Morvane needs focus, not distractions."

Drevon held up his hands in mock surrender. "Easy, easy. Just trying to help. Speaking of last night..." He smirked at Morvane. "We collected quite the number of spirits, didn’t we? You know what that means, don’t you?"

Morvane’s eyes widened as realization dawned. "Wait... does that mean I can borrow the powers and magic of the spirits my Shadow Beast devoured?"

Drevon’s grin widened. "Exactly. Why don’t you summon your beast and show us your collection? Come on, it’ll be fun."

Hesitant, Morvane glanced at Crimson, who looked wary but gave a small nod. Taking a deep breath, Morvane unsheathed a dagger and made a shallow cut on his palm. The blood shimmered faintly as he called forth his Shadow Beast.

The creature emerged from the shadows, its towering form pulsating with dark energy. Its maw opened, and glowing orbs of various colors floated out, hovering before Morvane.

"Interesting," Drevon murmured, stepping closer. "Let’s see... yellow for healing magic, red for fire, blue for water... sky blue, probably air magic, and brown for earth. Ah, but these three..." He pointed at the orbs with unique, swirling patterns. "Those must be rare powers. Quite the collection you’ve got there, Morvane."

Morvane stared at the orbs, a mix of awe and uncertainty filling him. "How do I use them?" he asked.

Drevon chuckled. "Simple. Command your beast to channel the power for you. Just don’t let it flow directly into your body—consuming magic like that will drain you quickly. Instead, let it manifest through the beast. Think of it as a vessel for now."

Nodding, Morvane focused on the yellow orb. "Shadow Beast, lend me the healing magic," he commanded.

The creature growled low, and the yellow orb dissolved into a shimmering light that enveloped Morvane. He felt a surge of warmth, and the cut on his palm closed instantly.

Drevon clapped, clearly amused. "Not bad. You’ll need to practice more to master this, but for now, at least you’re not completely useless."

Crimson crossed his arms, his irritation with Drevon evident. "That’s enough talking. Morvane, focus on one thing at a time. We’ll continue your training now."

As the Shadow Beast retreated into the shadows, Morvane couldn’t help but glance at the remaining orbs. Each one represented untapped potential, but they also carried the weight of the spirits he’d consumed.

And somewhere in the depths of his mind, the old man’s prophecy echoed again, reminding him that this power was both a gift and a curse.

Morvane stared at the glowing orbs, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Wait... how come there are only eight powers here? The Shadow Beast devoured more than twenty spirits last night."

Drevon chuckled, leaning against a nearby rock. "Ah, that’s probably because most of those spirits had similar powers—healing or elemental magic. When that happens, the magic just... stacks up. Makes for a stronger ability, I guess. Efficiency, right?" He laughed, clearly amused by Morvane’s naivety.

Morvane nodded slowly. "Ah, okay. That makes sense, I guess."

Drevon smirked. "Don’t worry about it too much, kid. Eight is still an impressive haul. Just don’t get cocky with them."

Crimson cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to the training. "If you’re done talking, Morvane, we’ve got work to do. Ready?"

Morvane hesitated, then glanced at Crimson with a determined look. "Can we use real swords instead of practice ones? I’ve got healing magic now, so I can patch myself up if things get rough."

Crimson raised an eyebrow, clearly considering the request. "Real swords, huh? Fine, but don’t expect me to hold back. You’ll need to learn how to handle the pressure of a real fight."

Morvane nodded, gripping the hilt of the sword Crimson handed him. "I wouldn’t have it any other way."

The training began, and the clash of steel filled the air. Crimson’s attacks were swift and relentless, each strike executed with precision that left little room for error. Despite his inexperience, Morvane managed to keep up, his movements growing more fluid as he adapted to Crimson’s rhythm.

On the sidelines, Drevon lounged lazily, watching the intense battle with a bored expression. "This is so dull," he muttered to himself, though his eyes occasionally flickered with interest when Morvane managed to dodge or parry a particularly difficult strike.

The fight was not without its cost. Crimson’s blade occasionally found its mark, leaving shallow cuts on Morvane’s arms and legs. But each time, Morvane channeled the healing magic, and the wounds closed almost instantly.

"I’m getting used to this," Morvane said between breaths, a small grin tugging at his lips.

Crimson smirked, impressed despite himself. "Don’t get cocky, kid. You’re keeping up, but I’m only warming up."

True to his word, Crimson increased the intensity of his attacks. Morvane found himself on the defensive, sweat dripping down his face as he struggled to match Crimson’s speed and strength. But with each clash, his movements became sharper, his instincts quicker.

Drevon finally stood up, stretching lazily. "Well, this is starting to get interesting. Maybe I underestimated you, Morvane. Just don’t pass out before you actually manage to land a hit on Crimson."

Morvane gritted his teeth, determined not to let the taunt distract him. For a brief moment, he saw an opening in Crimson’s stance and lunged forward, his blade aimed for Crimson’s shoulder. But Crimson sidestepped effortlessly, his sword coming around in a blur to tap Morvane’s side.

"Not bad," Crimson said, stepping back to give Morvane a moment to recover. "You’ve got potential, but you still have a long way to go."

Morvane nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. "I’ll get there. One step at a time."

Crimson sheathed his sword, signaling the end of the session. "That’s enough for today. Get some rest and focus on controlling your powers. Tomorrow, we’ll push harder."

As Morvane caught his breath, Drevon walked over, his usual smirk in place. "Not bad, kid. You’ve got guts. Let’s hope they don’t spill out in your next session, huh?" He laughed and vanished into the shadows, leaving Morvane and Crimson alone on the field.

Morvane glanced down at his sword, determination flickering in his eyes. He knew the road ahead would be grueling, but for the first time, he felt like he was beginning to understand his potential.

As Crimson began walking away, Drevon suddenly raised his hand and shouted, "Wait, wait! How about we do another session now? I’ve got another idea!"

Crimson ignored him, continuing his steady pace without a word.

Drevon wasn’t deterred. "It’s a pity, you know. The healing magic you gathered last night, Morvane... it’s going to waste. I’m sure that power will fade in a few hours. Too bad, huh?"

Morvane, hearing that, called out loudly, "Crimson! How about another session with me now?"

Crimson hesitated for a moment, clearly frustrated by Drevon’s constant interruptions. But after a brief pause, he turned around and gave a resigned sigh. "Fine. What do you want?"

Drevon appeared in front of them in an instant, his smirk wide. "How about this: me and Morvane versus you? I mean, you’re talented. I can see you’re holding back. You wouldn’t want to leave this battle so one-sided, would you? Also, what’s your magic, Crimson? I haven’t seen it yet."

Crimson’s eyes darkened, his voice cold. "None of your business."

Drevon raised an eyebrow. "Oh, why so irritated? Afraid of a demon?"

Without waiting for a response, Drevon snapped his fingers, and the atmosphere shifted. Crimson’s hand tightened around his sword, and the fight began.

Crimson was an incredible fighter, his every movement a perfect display of skill honed over years—perhaps even centuries. His strikes were like flowing water, never wasting energy, always aimed at his opponent’s weakest points. His speed and precision were so extraordinary that it seemed like his combat skills had been trained over a thousand years. He effortlessly parried Drevon’s taunts and attacks, and the sheer intensity of his onslaught left little room for hesitation.

Drevon, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be bothered at all. He evaded Crimson’s strikes with almost comical ease, taunting him all the while. "You can cut me any way you want, Crimson. It doesn’t matter. I’m immortal." His voice dripped with mockery. "Don’t hesitate."

Crimson’s frustration grew as he continued to fight. Every time he cornered Drevon, it was as if the demon found a way to slip through his defenses. But Crimson kept pushing forward, his determination never wavering.

Morvane, in the meantime, joined the fray, attacking Crimson when he saw openings. But despite his efforts, it was clear that Crimson was the primary focus of the fight, his every move calculated to overpower Drevon. Yet, Crimson always managed to keep one eye on Morvane, ensuring that he didn’t get too close.

The battle raged on, and finally, after a long exchange of attacks, Crimson cornered Drevon once more. With a swift movement, he decapitated the demon. The air went still, a tense silence hanging in the space between them.

But then, to everyone’s shock, Drevon’s severed head reattached itself, and he grinned widely. "Another round?"

Crimson’s expression was grim. He didn’t say anything, but it was clear he was prepared for whatever came next.

The battle resumed, and once again, it was clear that Crimson’s attacks were relentless, a series of strikes meant to overwhelm Drevon. But this time, as Crimson cornered Drevon again, preparing to slice him in half, Drevon flicked his fingers in a strange, almost casual motion.

Morvane’s eyes widened as his body suddenly felt... wrong. In an instant, he realized what had happened. His and Drevon’s positions had swapped—without warning, without explanation. Morvane, now in the demon’s place, found himself standing where Drevon had been, while Drevon was now behind Crimson.

Before Morvane could react, Crimson’s blade swung toward him, a blur of steel. He tried to raise his hands, but it was too late. The blade cut through him with terrifying precision, slicing him in half.

The world around Morvane seemed to slow down, and the sensation of the blade cutting through him was raw and visceral. Crimson’s face was the last thing he saw—his eyes wide in shock as he realized what had just happened.

"Morvane!" Crimson shouted, his voice filled with horror and disbelief.

The silence that followed was deafening. Crimson stood frozen, the reality of what he’d just done slowly sinking in. His sword was still in the air, his hand trembling.