“Dragonblood Compendium?” Linley looked up at his father in surprise.

Hogg smiled. “It contains far more than the Dragonblood Manual. This book records many matters concerning the Baruch Clan: the Manual itself, the method for crafting Dragonblood Needles, accounts of our ancestors’ deeds, and much else besides.”

Linley leafed through the book. Sure enough, the first quarter contained the Dragonblood Manual, while the remaining three quarters covered the clan’s other affairs.

“The book would be useless to an outsider,” Hogg continued. “No one outside our bloodline can cultivate the Dragonblood Manual, and what value would our family records have to them? There is little reason to guard it too anxiously. The clan still possesses several copies. This one is also a copy—the original turned to ash long ago with the passage of time.”

Linley laughed. “That’s true. Stealing it would gain anyone nothing.”

Curious, he turned to the beginning of the Dragonblood Manual.

Its first chapter read:

To cultivate the Dragonblood Manual, one must awaken the Dragonblood Warrior bloodline within the body. There are two methods by which this bloodline may be awakened. The first requires the Dragonblood Warrior bloodline to reach sufficient concentration. If that concentration is inadequate, there remains a second method...

Linley stopped.

There was another method? Then why had no one in the clan succeeded for so many generations?

The second method is to drink the blood of a living dragon, or the blood of a dragon that has been dead for no more than a few minutes. Once the dragon has been dead longer, the blood’s efficacy greatly diminishes. Drinking dragon blood can awaken the dormant Dragonblood Warrior bloodline. The blood of a Saint-level dragon produces the greatest effect. The blood of a Ninth-rank dragon-type Magical Beast offers a much smaller chance of awakening.

Linley stared at the passage.

“Our ancestors truly were daring. They actually thought of drinking living dragon blood to cultivate the Dragonblood Manual.” He did not know whether to laugh or groan.

Doehring Cowart appeared beside him. Hogg could neither see nor hear the spirit.

“Living dragon blood—and from a Saint-level dragon at that?” Doehring said, equally astonished. “Linley, the ancestors of your clan were remarkable indeed.”

Hogg gave Linley a rueful smile. “You see? According to our ancestors, the Dragonblood Warrior bloodline lies dormant deep within our blood. Only those two methods can awaken it. But the second requires drinking the blood of a living dragon. How could that possibly be easy? And... turn the page.”

Linley did so.

The second method—drinking living dragon blood—is extraordinarily dangerous. Dragon blood is tyrannical by nature and possesses the power to transform the body. Pouring it over the skin can rapidly strengthen the physique, but the agony is akin to being flayed alive. That is merely external exposure. If swallowed, the blood will burn the body from within. The drinker may be burned to death, or suffer ruptured blood vessels and die on the spot.

Linley was speechless.

“Father, who wrote the Dragonblood Manual? If it is this dangerous, why record the method at all?”

Hogg’s expression grew grave. “Linley, the Manual was written by Baruch, founder of our clan and the first Dragonblood Warrior on the Yulan Continent. If he recorded it, he must have had his reasons. Even so, two members of our clan once drank the living blood of Saint-level dragons. Both died immediately when their blood vessels ruptured.”

“Someone in our family actually tried it?”

On reflection, it was not so strange. The first, second, and third clan leaders had all been Dragonblood Warriors. In those glorious days, obtaining a Saint-level dragon and drawing its blood would not have been impossible for the Baruch Clan.

“It happened too long ago, and the book contains no detailed account of the true circumstances,” Hogg said. “I know only that the dragon race negotiated with the Baruch Clan because of it. No one attempted the method again. By the time our clan declined, we could not have obtained dragon blood even if someone wished to try.” He shook his head and sighed.

Linley nodded. Countless books spoke of the pride of dragons. Capturing a Saint-level dragon and bleeding it would have been an enormous humiliation to the entire race. The fact that furious dragons had not wiped out the Baruch Clan showed just how powerful the clan had once been.

Then another thought struck him.

“Wait, Father. If no one ever became a Dragonblood Warrior by drinking dragon blood, why did our ancestor record the method? He even specified that the blood of a Ninth-rank dragon-type Magical Beast might have some effect.”

Hogg paused.

“Don’t dwell on it, Linley. What I know of our family history also comes from this book. We have no way to discover exactly what happened four or five thousand years ago.” He smiled at his son.

Linley nodded, though the question remained. If no one had ever succeeded, how had Baruch known the method could work?

“It’s late. Go and rest,” Hogg said.

Linley returned to his bedroom with the Compendium in his hands, still unable to let the mystery go.

“Grandpa Doehring, if no one succeeded with this method, how was it discovered in the first place?”

Doehring Cowart’s white beard lifted with satisfaction. “The answer is simple. Dragons are exceedingly proud—and exceedingly powerful. My guess is that drinking living dragon blood truly can awaken your bloodline. Under pressure from the dragon race, the Baruch Clan may have altered portions of this book.”

Linley understood at once. It was entirely possible. The Dragonblood Warriors might have agreed never again to capture living dragons and drink their blood.

“Of course, that is only my theory,” Doehring added with an easy smile. “But I do know that drinking living dragon blood is not certain death. If taken together with Blueheart Grass, its harmful effects can be neutralized. I doubt many people now know that formula.”

Linley froze, then broke into joy. “Grandpa Doehring, you mean living dragon blood is safe if taken with Blueheart Grass?”

Doehring nodded confidently. “Naturally. During the days of the Pouant Empire, a princess once fell gravely ill. She was cured with living dragon blood and Blueheart Grass—and I was the one who captured the Saint-level dragon used in the treatment.”

He stroked his beard. “The old court physician who supplied the formula told me that every substance in the world has another capable of counteracting it. Only he and I knew the prescription then. Six thousand years have passed. I imagine scarcely anyone remembers it now.”

“Living dragon blood and Blueheart Grass...” Excitement shone in Linley’s eyes. “Once I become a Ninth-rank magus—or stronger—I’ll use them to make Wootton a Dragonblood Warrior.”

He even dreamed of taking them himself someday. If he could become both a Saint-level magus and a Dragonblood Warrior...

But that was only a dream. Capturing a Saint-level dragon was still unimaginably far beyond him.

“The road ahead is long,” Linley murmured. “Time to sleep. I still have training tomorrow morning.”