Chapter Fourteen: The Mystery of Bloodline

After arriving home, Joan first slaughtered the three wild rabbits, expertly drained their blood, and skinned them. The entrails were tossed to Jamie, while the cleaned rabbit meat was coated with honey, ready to be slowly roasted over the stove. Just then, Conti returned with Jamie, telling Joan that she had just visited Old Tyrell again and recounted their hunting adventure in the woods.

“Mr. Tyrell has something to ask you. I’ll roast the meat; go quickly,” Conti finally said, getting to the point.

Joan hesitated for a long time. Faced with Conti’s encouraging gaze, he finally nodded reluctantly, wiped his hands, and left the kitchen.

Twilight was approaching. His grandfather’s cabin glowed with a single oil lamp. Through the window, the old man’s hunched silhouette could be seen, seated as always in the armchair by the fireplace, occasionally taking a deep draw from his pipe.

“You’ve been back two days. Is there still food at home?” Old Tyrell asked his grandson.

“Yes,” Joan replied, his head lowered.

“The money pouch is still in the old place. Go take it yourself.”

“I have money,” Joan hurried to assure his grandfather, fearing he wouldn’t believe him. “Today we caught a vicious badger. Conti helped a lot.”

The old man’s expression changed, and after a long silence, he spoke. “That’s my fault. I should have made time to check the woods.”

Though his grandfather intentionally concealed his past from the townsfolk, Joan had long noticed that the retired ranger still possessed extraordinary skills. In the past, his grandfather would patrol the woods at least once a month. After one of these patrols, there were never any dangerous beasts like vicious badgers that could threaten Joan. But this winter, Old Tyrell broke his longstanding habit and hadn’t patrolled the backwoods for over a month.

Joan worried that his grandfather’s health was no longer as robust as before, making regular patrols impossible. He preferred to believe his grandfather was still well, only distracted by concern for his grandson’s travels, unable to keep up with the woods in time.

“All right, enough of these trivial matters. How much do you know about Conti’s situation?” the old man asked Joan.

“Not at all,” Joan answered truthfully.

“That’s not surprising. You’re not one to pry into others’ affairs, especially since she’s just a young girl.” Old Tyrell scoffed and, setting aside his pipe, spoke gravely, “Conti’s surname is ‘Powhatan,’ from the Algonquin tribe. Her parents are far from ordinary. Her father and I come from the same place—he’s a junior of my order. Though we haven’t been in touch for many years, we share the same lineage and some bonds remain. You must treat Conti with respect.”

Joan nodded silently. “Algonquin” was the largest Aesir tribe in the Alfheim region. “Powhatan” seemed a noble name among their people, proving Conti’s distinguished background. Yet, more than Conti’s origins, Joan was intrigued by his grandfather’s remarks about Conti’s father.

Joan knew his grandfather was born on the Old Continent and had once been a member of a druid society called the “Harvest Circle.” Over thirty years ago, he came to the New Continent, initially roaming as an adventurer before settling in Derlin Town, marrying, and raising a family. Only when Joan was born did he finally retire from adventuring.

Since Conti’s father and his grandfather hailed from “the same place” and shared the same order, he likely came from the distant east of the Old Continent and belonged to the “Harvest Circle,” as a druid or ranger. If so, it was no wonder Conti had become a level 4 druid at such a young age, given her family heritage.

While Joan was lost in thought, his grandfather shifted the subject, asking about Joan’s exam at Layton Harbor.

“I passed. Classes start officially on April first.” Joan hesitated, then finally relayed the examiner’s advice: “The examiner said my talent is better suited to the path of a warlock, and I could apply for a full loan—”

“Absolutely not!”

Before Joan could finish, his grandfather interrupted him. The old man was unusually agitated, struggling to stand from his wheelchair.

Fearing his grandfather might fall, Joan hurried forward to steady him, forcing him back into his seat.

Old Tyrell gripped his pipe tightly, his face flushed with excitement. After coughing for a long while, he calmed down, his whole figure seeming to age ten years in an instant.

“Joan, if you truly wish to pursue the arcane arts, I won’t stop you. But between the paths of wizard and warlock, I would much rather you choose the former.”

“Why?” Joan looked at his grandfather, bewildered.

Old Tyrell sighed and pointed to the back of Joan’s neck.

“Remember the eye, Joan. That is the mark you were born with—the sign of aberrant bloodline.”

“I know.” Joan touched the abnormal organ on his nape that no ordinary person should have, his expression uneasy. “When the examiner found my aberrant bloodline, I knew what was going on.”

“No, my child, you don’t fully know the truth.” Pain was evident on Old Tyrell’s face. “It’s not your fault, nor your parents’. If you had been born in a normal environment, you would have been a perfectly healthy child… It’s all my fault, all because of me.”

“Grandfather, I don’t understand what you’re saying…” Joan’s eyes were full of confusion.

“The truth is complicated and terrifying. I can’t tell you everything now, child—it’s not yet time…” Old Tyrell shook his head in despair, murmuring softly, “If only I were wise enough, I’d have taken these secrets to the grave.”

“At least you should tell me part of the truth.” Joan stared at his grandfather’s haggard face, questioning him word by word. “Don’t I have the right to know my own origins?”

Old Tyrell was silent for a long time before finally raising his head to answer his grandson’s challenge directly.

“It all began fourteen years ago. At that time, I was hired by someone to track down the leader of a mysterious cult. All we knew was that the cult leader was known as ‘The Mother’ among her followers. Besides that, we had no clues. With the help of your parents and some other companions, I spent a whole year investigating, finally cutting through layers of mystery and locating the hidden site where the cult performed their rituals… Child, forgive me for not telling you more about this cult, nor revealing the location of their lair, lest your curiosity lead you astray, as it did to us fourteen years ago… Driven by curiosity, we stepped deeper and deeper into the nightmare, eventually infiltrating that strange cathedral and witnessing with our own eyes the true face of the so-called ‘Mother.’”