Chapter 109: Blood Fiend

Chapter 109: Chapter 109: Blood Fiend

Jeremy truly began to suspect that this mansion was cursed against him.

He was no stranger to this symptom.

If it were purely physical pain, it would be hard to judge. But when it was accompanied by the familiar tearing sensation radiating from the soul level, he almost instantly recognized it: this was precisely the thing that had clung to him throughout his entire previous life—the "Blood Fiend Syndrome."

On Earth, he was adopted by his master when he was just a newborn.

The old man constantly nagged that he had picked Jeremy up from the river. Initially, Jeremy thought it was a lame joke, only learning later that it was true.

And that physical body, from a young age, was unreasonably weak.

Every second and every minute was submerged in an endless pain. The sensation of his soul being torn apart and shattered shot straight to his brain, almost never resting for a single day.

His master dragged him to undergo every kind of medical examination, but no machine could catch the illness. The final conclusion of all the hospitals was encapsulated in one line: congenital weak constitution.

When seeing the child begin to vomit blood while the situation never improved, the old man mobilized the entire family’s network, inviting over reclusive Daoists, enlightened high monks, and a slew of witches. Offerings, spellcasting, everything was tried.

Strangely enough, it actually had some effect.

When he was picked up, his bone age wasn’t even a full year. From a year and a half onward, he was continuously plastered with all sorts of lost secret arts and witchcraft, plus medicine poured into his mouth day and night without end. By the time he was four, the pain had receded significantly.

It was also from then on that his master allowed him to begin physical training. Partly so he would have the ability to protect himself later, and partly to follow exactly the instructions of that Daoist.

But after four years old, the syndrome only lessened, never entirely ceasing.

Also because of it, he could collapse into a coma at any time without a single warning sign.

Every time he woke up, his memory was severed into fragments, taking a period of time to piece back together—a feeling of helplessness no different from a young person suffering from memory loss.

Whether he fainted due to excessive pain, or for some other reason, to this day no one could conclude. The duration of each coma was also inconsistent. Short ones lasted three days, long ones a whole month.

That Daoist gave it a name: Blood Fiend. Then pronounced a verdict, saying he wouldn’t live past eighteen.

The witches invited later said exactly the same thing—a terminal illness, he could stop breathing at any moment, humans have no right to reverse destiny.

Because they spoke with such absolute certainty, afterward... his master kicked all of them out the door.

Later on, he himself clearly understood that he was the short-lived type.

Initially, he complained to the heavens and earth a few times, but later gave up, taking life one day at a time.

His daily routine was following his master to exorcise heresies, hiding his identity to go to school like a normal student, and incidentally taking over the family’s factions step by step.

Naturally, it was also precisely because of that illness that quite a few people opposed him taking the seat of the next patriarch...

Even though from the very beginning, he had never intended to hold that position long-term.

If that bunch had sat quietly and waited, without creating the mess that led to his master’s death, he probably would have yielded the patriarch position on the exact day he took power.

Unfortunately, they were too stupid, stubbornly pushing their entire clan into destruction.

Looking back now, the cancer test results also reached his hands on the exact day he wiped them out.

But when a Blood Fiend already existed in his body, cancer was nothing more than adding insult to injury. When holding that piece of paper, his mood was so flat it didn’t stir a single ripple; he didn’t even bother to kindle the intention of seeking treatment.

That year he was sixteen. Exactly the age of the original owner now.

He originally thought that with the two illnesses combined, he could at least drag himself to eighteen. Who would have expected him to die abruptly halfway through...

Perhaps he should say that the heavens particularly despised him.

The headache grew more intense by the second, so fierce that every train of thought was shredded.

Jeremy’s body trembled uncontrollably. He vomited a mouthful of blood, his entire body losing strength as he slid to the floor.

Right after transmigrating here, he had thought that since this was someone else’s body anyway, the Blood Fiend Syndrome definitely wouldn’t be able to follow him.

For the past half year, it clearly had never flared up. So why was it starting now?

What exactly was going on? Was he truly the short-lived type... even changing to any world, that premature death ending could still follow him?

Jeremy felt unreconciled.

A knock sounded on the door. It was probably the maid on duty in the corridor who heard the commotion.

"Young Master? What’s the matter, are you alright?" The voice carried worry.

Jeremy swallowed the metallic blood back down, replying: "...I’m fine."

Blood Fiend was his own illness, the thing that had clung to him for a solid sixteen years in his past life. He understood every detail of it.

Judging by the current severity, this was only the onset phase. In a few hours, it would probably recede on its own.

The day he returned to the mansion, the Duke’s healing mage had conducted a full body check according to standard procedure. The results, naturally, were that all stats were normal.

This meant that this Blood Fiend truly originated from the soul, not from flesh and bone.

He could only wait for the symptoms to subside before investigating whether this continent had ever recorded the existence of similar symptoms, and whether there was any treatment plan.

Sylvanor’s area was dozens of times larger than Earth’s. Not counting other races, humanity alone was counted in billions. The probability of another Blood Fiend case appearing was definitely not zero. Who knows, it might just be called by a different name.

Furthermore, this plane belonged to the high-tier category; even bringing the dead back to life had a probability of being achieved. Perhaps the Blood Fiend also had a way out.

His head pounded more and more, making it almost impossible to string together a complete sentence.

Jeremy was forced to suppress all his thoughts, leaning against the wall to stand up, casting a cleansing spell on himself, and then dragging himself to collapse onto the sofa.

After taking his medicine, he cast a sleep spell on himself, letting his consciousness be dragged straight into the darkness.

When Jeremy opened his eyes again, it was already the next day.

The uncomfortable feeling hadn’t completely disappeared, but it was no longer as aggressive as at first. It was tolerable.

"Tick tock, tick tock..."

The magic clock on the wall ticked steadily. Jeremy tilted his head to check the time.

Nine thirty-five in the morning.

...According to Melson’s words, the original owner’s older brother should arrive at the mansion before noon.

When the time came, as the younger brother, according to the rules he was obligated to be present in the hall to welcome him.

Glancing at the dark, dried bloodstain on his lapel, Jeremy stood up and entered the bathroom.

Raphael was one thing, not worth mentioning.

But the original owner and this older brother had never even seen each other’s faces for so many solid years. There was no way the other party could recognize him as a fake right from the first glance.