Prince was waiting outside in the chilly, moisty wind of the marshlands. His black jacket was torn — nothing to him — but he was feeling a pang in his heart. He just liked black clothes.

  The SUV had been waiting for him, but Prince wanted a bit of time to himself. Just staring at the clear night sky, deep in the forest. Informing him, the driver had gone for a quick smoke.

  When is he going to– ah. Prince exclaimed, as the driver suddenly emerged from a bunch of trees. Flashing his torchlight. As the driver closed in, Prince ordered him to exit the forest, and he immediately complied.

  The driver was a man of experience and was fairly powerful. Thus there was no fear of nighttime loots. And also, it had been widely known that the prince from K had entered a ruin in the western marshes. Nobody with the slightest love for their life would ever venture here.

  The drive was long, and tiring. Prince’s heart had calmed but all the exhaustion from the fight was hollowing his bones, and tendering his muscles. Though, his jet lag was quite working in his favour. And he managed to not sleep throughout the way.

  At dawn, Prince was back at the hotel. The staff had personally rearranged their shifts for his entrance. Basically, sucking up to him. And as tired as he was now, he wasn’t hating it.

  Prince soon was inside his room. He changed into a set of trousers and t-shirt, as he lay flat on the bed. The hollowed-out body was not wanting to move, and he, for some reason, wasn’t falling asleep. So, the events of the day haunted him in his mind.

  His failure to win from the Lizard. Unknowingly venturing in the ruins, and luckily getting out alive. Especially because of the pay to win. I need to study about the Bloodeds. He vowed to himself.

  Right now, his mind was at best, working as a mumbling machine. Mumbling constantly about his failure and his bodily exhaustion. So, he decided to start the process tomorrow. And irrespective of the jet lag, he slept thoroughly well.

  When he woke up, it was already evening. He freshed himself, as a doorbell rang. It must be the books. He thought, as in the morning, before sleeping, he ordered them.

  He opened the door, received a heavy bundle of his books. And quickly, closed it back. He had already prepped for no disturbances — except for some good food, of course. And he had also told such to the staff.

  He stretched, and internally whimpered about how boring it was going to be. But the fight yesterday had convinced him enough about the importance of knowing the theory. I guess I can’t avoid it for long. And he sat on the chair, with a set of books of weight — both earthly and theoretically.

  Sometimes in a slouch, sometimes sticking his spine all the way to the back of the chair. Often, so hard that it had pop a few bones. He moved from page to page, as the sun rose again.

  This is quite an interesting range of material. He reflected on the book he read. It talked about the Bloodeds and the quality of their rare bloods. It was a book written to delve into the complexities of the system in a practical and basic manner. First, introducing mytoplasm. A name to encompass all kinds of materials produced by variegated types of bloods.

  All mytoplasms were connected by one idea — they were produced in the Bloodeds and they just did magic. Introducing the concept of mytoplasms, the book delved into an interesting place. The history of the Bloodeds.

  The ruins and Bloodeds have always been interconnected. Without ruins, Bloodeds would never find their sacrifice, and never be able to make it — because a lot of times, the rituals are complex and require mystical herbs and materials from ruins.

  Without performing sacrifices, they would be stuck at levels, which leads to death. It mentioned something very crucial, Prince was missing. That he could die in 40 days. And now… 39 days.

  Similarly in 2nd level, he would have about 52 days, then 3rd level, would have 79 days and the 4th level would have 106 days. It’s pretty much completely non-linear. Except for how they ultimately reach 7 by iterating additions.

  Then, the book delved into the question: Dependence of ruins on the Bloodeds. And it was quite thought provoking. Why were the ruins depended on the Bloodeds. Though, it raised a question. Were they even dependent… The book thwarted it by introducing a simple concept of interdependence.

  The flora is safe from the outsiders because of the fauna. And fauna thrives by eating flora. The blood in the blooded thrives because of them, and blooded thrive because of blood. The book claimed to state all of this on a well-researched hypothesis: The interdependence of magic.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  What is the status of my unique blood then? How are powers ever gonna be helpful to me? Prince thought, questioning on how he could gain anything practical from the theory. Perhaps, something immediate. But as he read more, and particularly a small topic: Unique Bloods. He realised that Lena was right. He basically had to try it out, before he died. I prefer dying fighting rather than just sitting, reading books. He commented.

  There were ruins which were pretty much untouched. Dating from the older times. So, the research on the history of ruins was dead. And without having enough material, the source and origins of the ruins were unknown.

  At least I know more about the general layout and what exploration for sacrifice even means. Prince tried his best not to feel like he had wasted his time reading this book. Why the heck is this having such a high review!?

  It was almost five in the morning, so he slept for an hour and then made his way to the training gym. A training gym for Bloodeds. An effective method would be to hire a coach for his magical combat but he didn’t want his powers being leaked to his father.

  He reached the gym, and it was bad. The room — according to Prince— ended in a jiffy. Equipments were ragged, showing a history of mistreatment and improper maintenance. And the floor was lingering with the scent of cheap sanitizer.

  I guess, You can’t expect much from Lanor. Prince thought, as he proceeded on to the more grimmer problems of his life.

  Theoretically, he had thirty nine days to live. He might use an exclusive feature to him. The pay-to-win feature, and survive through, explore the ruins and advance in levels. But, the ruins are always having a significant edge over technology. That is also the reason, Bloodeds are the crux of power in today’s society. Ruling over money.

  If he manages to cross the early levels with external assistance. This door will soon close on him as he reaches the upper levels. And it will lead him to be in a dead-end. I can’t walk on such an impractical road.

  I can either explore and increase my level, and hope I gain knowledge or more perhaps more control over powers. But I just discarded this… So I guess I can only learn about my powers in 39 days?

  Prince pondered over his choices, as it all dimmed down to Lena’s advice. Fuck around and find out.

  He concluded that direct combat in the ruins is clearly disadvantageous for him. From what he learned, that lizard was one of the weakest guardians. And here I was thinking I did something.

  If the mini-explosion could only get him through the weakest bunch. It might be impossible for him to explore. But as the prince of K, he couldn’t run away from such situations.

  The head of the organization. His father or the King, had one son, and three sisters. The three sisters were defeated by his father for the position, and were appointed as Knights. Their sons and daughters, similarly, had become knights. Not because, Prince immediately was appointed at his status as being the prince of the organization. But because he had the rarest blood out of them all. The one with the most potential.

  His position as a Prince would be in danger, if he were to run away. And once he got discarded, he had too many enemies to never let him see the other day. His mother died young, and he was unsure of how much his father would let him live. He had no backing. Just his blood.

  First, let’s get my blood pumping. Prince committed, wandering out of his concerns. He moved to the bag as he punched. From instinct, he took a perfect stance, twisting his body along the movement. The loud sound of his punch vibrated in the room. Like a gunshot.

  One, and another and another. He kept punching. He could feel his heart racing, thumping under his chest. Yet, he recalled his crazily bouncing heart — yesterday, in the ruins. It was out of his chest, sticking out. His breath was ragged, his muscles tensed. His mind, like in a rhythm of fearless, breakless focus.

  I need to get that. Prince stopped, as he moved to his equipment and tied heavy weights. Chest, legs and hands. He moved straight back to the punching bag as he continued to punch.

  The rays started to run through the window to the gym. The overly sweet, and head-wrenching smell of the sanitizer was overrun by the raw smell of Prince’s sweat. Yet, he hadn’t stooped.

  In the academy, he had gone through enough. He had sparred for hours, continuously. Sometimes vomiting from the strain. His muscles were now practically made for such work. And this, right now, was working against him.

  He kept banging his hands at the punching bag for hours. Sometimes, moving out and trying different movements. In differing range of motions and activities, he strived hard to reach that state again.

  After hours of working, his efforts began to pay. He could feel the tightening in his chest, and his muscles draining. The weight was starting to weigh more with every movement. Yet, he didn’t stop.

  Like gunshots, the bangs rang in his room. Or like a feather, he flung himself in all directions.

  The sun turned bright hot, outside, and his knuckles were beginning to paint themselves red from his own blood. But seeing himself closing to his goal, he clenched his teeths and moved on sheer will.

  His breath was turning ragged, and his hands were turning pale. Perhaps, the blood loss was also starting to take a toll on him. In a continuous rhythm of breath — Hah hah hah. The rhythm matching the state of his breath in the fight. He kept his punches going.

  As he barely let his hand fall on the hanging bag. His muscles starting to flail from the pain. He felt an oddly familiar feeling. Like death coursing through his veins.

  From that tall, lean boy standing besides the bag. Swinging punches. A wisp of black flowed out like a slithering snake. In a moment, thousands of wisps, black and daunting curled around the ringing bag. Prince watched in shock as the bundle of wisps, like a primal devourer, dark and daunting, burst the punching bag out of their way. They crumbled the floor and the walls standing before then spat bricks onto the ground beside.

  Prince watched everything silently. Holy shit!