Page 41 of Kingdom of Rot & Ruin
So I ignored B in favor of eating my food. I still needed the energy, especially for what was about to happen next.
“Bastard freak boy! I’m fucking talking to you!”
I smiled. Fucking smiled. Bastard wasn’t even an insult. It was simply the truth. How would they all react knowing I was theking’sbastard? How would B react if he was face to face with a dragon? The image of B pissing himself in my head gave me a rush.
Infuriated at being ignored, he lunged for me like I knew he would. I didn’t hesitate. I had it all planned out in my mind, and had walked through every scenario the night before.
I whirled around with my butter knife and thrust it straight into his right eye.
He screamed like a dying rat and thrashed, falling over backward while clutching his face.
Calmly, I went back to eating.
“Excuse me, may I borrow your knife to cut my sausage?” I asked the Noble boy across from me. His jaw dropped comically and his hands shook as he held out his knife like he was handing it to his executioner.
My smile to him was deadly. “Thank you.”
Behind me, B’s cronies crowded around him even as Vession appeared out of nowhere like he normally did, taking charge of the situation.
“Do not pull it out!” he snarled. “Let the healers deal with it!”
Addictive, heady euphoria pounded through my veins at B’s pathetic whining and cries of pain. I kept eating my breakfast as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. After all, no one had given a shit my first night here after B had beat the tar out of my face, had they?
Scraping up the last bits of syrup with my last bite of sausage, I daintily dabbed my lips with my napkin, and tossed it onto my plate, nodding to the Nobles at my table as if we were good friends.
Their white faces I would cherish for the rest of my life.
“See you at dinner, then.”
I turned and left. B’s pathetic cries were a sweet symphony to accompany my purposeful steps. I stopped by my room and grabbed the empty bucket, stopping by the empty bathhouse and filling it up with water.
Disappointingly, there were no naked girls. Parts of my anatomy that had swelled in anticipation shrunk back down.
This was one part of ‘growing up’ that was both irritating and quickly becoming an obsession. But I couldn’t deal with it now. Perhaps I’d visit Clover later.
Down in my dark ritual room, I drew out the design on my skin first in ink. The more in depth I went with rituals,the more complex they began. I couldn’t find any reason inking a pattern beforehand wouldhurtme, so why not do it? Anything I could do to mitigate risk and ensure I lived to come out the other side was a good thing.
So I spent a few hours meticulously drawing the sigils and swirls, connecting lines and dots from the first ritual around my ankles and knees up to my thighs and hips, and reaching up towards my ribs.
Eventually, I’d have to summon the courage to mark and cut into my neck and my face, but thankfully, not today.
I marked the last point with a flourish, taking a moment to stand and stretch while the ink on my skin dried. Slowly and carefully, I laid out my rocks in a perfect circle. I could have kept them out between rituals, but I didn’t want to risk anyone stumbling into my room and getting curious about what was going on. Plus, the more I practiced making perfect circles, the closer to perfection I would get.
The last stone in the circle laid flat to complete the link, and the ink on my skin had dried.
I grabbed my cloth from the corner and unwrapped the knives, inspecting them. I’d just started research into what results I could get using different blades, or just treating and maintaining them on different days and conditions.
But that wasn’t the focus for today.
Satisfied they were all still sharp and clean, I selected one of medium length but superior quality and edge. Settling into the center of the circle, I found a comfortable position sitting down with the first leg stretched out in front of me. My morning stretch routine was proving crucial to not cramping up during rituals, but it would only get harder as they became more complex, and in places of my body that were more difficult and hard to reach.
Bringing the tip of the knife to where my last ritualended, I took a deep breath in, and upon letting it out, cut deep in my skin.
Blood welled, and I moved carefully in an arc by spinning on my bottom to let it flow on the inside edges of my stones, creating as smooth of an inner circle as I could while keeping my knife in contact with my skin. When the edges finally touched, I relaxed into as comfortable a position as I could, and cut up my body following the lines.
It was slow, painstaking work. Sweat rolled down my body and my muscles shook. After this heat ritual, I should really start a muscle strengthening series. I would need basic improvements to my body and its efficiency in order to achieve higher rituals down the line. The possibilities of the entire field of study were endless and fascinating.
My hand shook as I neared the final swirl.
