Reborn, Its Time To Save My Family And.. My Enemy!
Chapter 237: The Blood Ritual

Chapter 237: The Blood Ritual

A group of knights rode in the dark knight. They had a cold look on their face but the whispers did not leave their eyes. The chief rode on a dark horse with them. His eyes staring at the distance hoping the rumors would die once the girl would return home.

By the time they reached the clearing, the first light of dawn crept across the horizon, casting a cold grey hue over the trees. The captain of the knights pulled his horse to a halt. his eyes wide as he surveyed the scene.

"By the gods..."

His eyes widened with shock when he found corpses littered the ground. their armor bearing the unmistakable crest of House Clondoire. They have twisted swords in their body and shattered helms. their blood soaked deep into the earth. Some of the bodies were mangled, torn apart with unnatural precision. Others bore no wounds at all, their expressions frozen in horror.

"None of them are witches," one knight murmured after inspecting a few of the fallen. "They’re all Clondoire knights and local thugs who work for money."

other knights dismounted and stalked forward, their boots crunching over the debris of broken spears and fallen bodies. The air smelled of blood and fire ash and something wrong. Then came the sound of a faint whimper.

They rushed toward it, swords drawn in instinct more than reason.

Huddled near a cluster of stones were a handful of girls, pale and unconscious, their chests rising faintly with breath. Some had dried blood on their robes, but none seemed injured. Their skin was cold and almost translucent. It was as if something had drained the life from them without breaking their flesh.

"They’re alive," said one of the knights kneeling to check pulses. "But barely. What kind of sorcery is this?"

Another voice rang out near the treeline. "Captain! There’s more!"

They followed the call and found Elric.

The heir of House Clondoire lay sprawled beside an altar-like rock, his eyes wide open in death, mouth twisted in a silent scream. His sword arm was outstretched, his fingers curled as if clawing toward something unseen. Unlike the others, his body was untouched by blade or flame.

A strange mark was etched into the ground beside him.

The captain knelt beside Elric and clenched his jaw. "There’s no doubt now. This wasn’t a simple ambush. Something else happened here."

He turned toward the others. "Gather the survivors. Tend to the girls first as they’re still breathing. We will burn the dead and report back to the Duke at once."

"But sir," a younger knight asked hesitantly, "What about Elric?"

The captain looked down at the nobleman’s lifeless face, and for a moment, a flicker of pity passed through his features.

"We bring his body too. Whatever feud started this, people will want answers. And this..." he motioned to the clearing, to the broken circle of runes etched in the earth, "...this is far from over."

As the knights moved swiftly through the clearing, wrapping cloaks around the unconscious girls and preparing stretchers, the morning sun finally broke through the canopy, casting golden light over the battlefield that had, somehow, seen the witches emerge untouched... and the hunters fall to their own bloodlust.

Far away, in a quiet village inn, Olivia stirred again in her sleep, her fingers twitching slightly, lips parting in a name no one could hear. A whisper from the other side of memory. Her mother knelt at the center of the ritual circle, three decades ago just as Oriana had suffered last night.

"You are chosen," the High Priestess said, placing a burning hand over her mother’s heart. "Blood is your power. Blood will answer you."

At first, there was power. Strength like no other. Her mother had moved with speed, heard the whispers of the dying, tasted the lies on people’s tongues. Magic crackled in her veins, terrifying and intoxicating.

But then came the hunger. She was hungry for blood. It began slowly—a twitch at the scent of an open wound. Then worse—nightmares of tearing through skin, of crimson filling her mouth, of ecstasy in the kill.

She had gone to the Head Priestess, voice shaking, hands cold. "I feel wrong. I—I can’t think without needing it. I can’t breathe."

The Head Priestess had only smiled. "It is temporary," she had said. "You’re adjusting. Kill a few humans if you must. The village will fall anyway. Their blood will serve the future we build."

Her mother had stared, horrified. "They’re innocent."

"There is no such thing," the Head Priestess replied.

"You are the chosen one," the priestess had said. "You cannot abandon this path. The people must die. It is the only way."

But Olivia’s mother couldn’t bear it. She did not want to kill the innocents. That night, her mother had fled. Into the woods. Away from the circle. Away from the coven. She took the Book of Rituals, the sacred, cursed thing that had made her what she was. She buried her name with the ashes of her faith and vowed it would never be used again.

The ritual had never been meant to give power. It had been meant to turn them into weapons.

She jolted slightly in her sleep, breath catching as if choking on something unseen. Damon gripped her hand tighter.

"Olivia?" he whispered, urgency and fear in his voice. Olivia finally turned to look at him. His eyes widened with disbelief but he hid the shock and pretended to be normal.

"You have been sleeping for a long time. Are you feeling any better? Do you need water?" he asked in a soft voice as if he was afraid that he would scare both of them.

Olivia blinked a few times. Finally coming to reality. It took him a few more seconds to recognize the man sitting in front of her. Damon! He was the man she had loved in the past days. He had helped her many times and also told her that she was a witch.

"What happened to the ritual?"

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