Chapter 92: Grimoire Ceremony And Next Year Time Skip

The next day,

"Darling, wake up~" Agatha's voice drifted to him, soft and melodic.

"Huh?" Ricky blinked his eyes open, meeting her gaze as she leaned over him, already dressed, gently caressing his face.

"Today's the day you become a warlock." Agatha pressed a tender kiss to his forehead before snapping her fingers, instantly dressing him in a traditional warlock robe.

"Five more minutes." Ricky murmured, a sly smile forming as he tugged her back down beside him. 

"Or maybe ten?" Ricky's lips found her neck, tracing soft, lingering kisses as Agatha chuckled, surrendering momentarily to his embrace.

"Later, we're already late." Agatha informed Ricky to hold up his head.

"Late?"

2 minutes later,

"GREETINGS TO ALL MY FELLOW WARLOCKS AND WITCHES! I, ELDER SABITH, AM HERE TO CONDUCT AN INITIATION FOR SOMEONE WHO CLAIMS TO BE ONE OF US!" Elder Sabith announced, gesturing dramatically toward Ricky, who was walking beside Agatha. 

They were met by dozens of observing warlocks, including Rachael, Chores, and Barko.

"Ha, good luck with that imbecile who's too stubborn to memorize a spell," Rachael scoffed, prompting laughter from the other warlocks, witches, and even Agatha.

"That's the warlock in him, sweetie," Agatha teased, making the coven laugh even harder. Ricky and his companions, still confused, exchanged glances, unsure what they were missing.

"Darling, warlocks and witches often struggle to keep track of the vast number of spells at our disposal, which is why we've evolved to bond with grimoires; they act as a conduit for a reason." Agatha explained, kissing his cheek and Ricky, a bit surprised, quickly attributed it to being a warlock rather than just a lazy magician.

"I always knew it was something like that." Ricky nodded, prompting Rachael to narrow her eyes at his flimsy excuse as he walked toward the elder.

"Now, if you truly are who you claim to be, then place your hand on the pedestal and—"

Ricky didn't wait for him to finish as he placed his hand on the pedestal, which immediately began to glow, confirming he was indeed a warlock.

"I told you my darling was a warlock!" Agatha cheered from the side, while the other elders exchanged awkward coughs.

"Well, it still doesn't mean that he is chosen by a grimoire-"

"Wait, I already have one of those!" Ricky suddenly remembered, pulling a grimoire from his inventory just as another book flew out from the library shelves.

Everyone froze, stunned, since Grimoires were rare treasures, often granted only by the library itself; if not chosen, a witch or warlock would have to spend years forging one, pouring their own blood and life force into it; a grueling, time-consuming task. 

But here stood Ricky, not only possessing a grimoire that had been tucked away for who knows how long in his system inventory, but now a second had emerged from the library, choosing him as its master.

The green, soulbound grimoire in his hands began to glow, intertwining with his soul as it anchored itself to him, only to be disrupted by another grimoire hovering nearby, shimmering with a dark allure. 

Ricky's eyes widened as the green grimoire shot out of his grip, drifting toward the black, radiant tome. The two books circled each other in the air, the green grimoire eventually taking its place behind the black one.

*Bam*

*Bam*

*Bam*

Everyone looked on in a mix of bewilderment and disbelief as Ricky's original grimoire floated behind the black tome, appearing to jostle it in a strange, rhythmic pattern. 

The room echoed with the unusual thudding sounds, leaving the assembled witches and warlocks thoroughly perplexed.

Watching as the green grimoire thrusted its pages fervently against the back cover of the black book, binding them together with an intensity that made the room fall silent, every onlooker watched as the two tomes merged in a bizarre, almost ritualistic fusion.

[You're soul bound grimoire is trying to merge with-]

*Pffffft*

'Yeah.' 

Ricky burst into laughter at the absurdity of the scene, watching in disbelief as his system grimoire awkwardly attempted to 'bone' the library's grimoire, the ridiculousness of the moment lifting the tension in the air.

*Ding*

Legendary Growth Item: Eternity Grimoire 

Description: The Eternity Grimoire is a legendary spellbook of immense power, bound to its master in a bond that transcends time and space. Forged from the essence of ancient cosmic forces and infused with the souls of archmages, this grimoire is a living repository of boundless magical knowledge. 

Abilities: 

Soulbound Enhancement: The Eternity Grimoire is inherently linked to its master's soul, growing in power as the caster's magical abilities and knowledge expand. This bond ensures that only the chosen master can wield its full potential. 

Arcane Reservoir: The grimoire absorbs and stores every spell the caster learns, continually evolving to grant access to an ever-expanding range of magic. Its pages are endless, containing spells from all schools of magic and even forgotten arcane arts. 

Mastery of All Schools: As the grimoire accumulates spells, it also enhances the caster's proficiency in various magical disciplines. This mastery allows the caster to weave complex spell combinations and channel arcane energies with unparalleled precision. 

Mystic Conduit: The Eternity Grimoire can draw upon ambient magical energies from its surroundings, replenishing the caster's mana and amplifying their spells' power during critical moments. 

Runic Evolution: The runes inscribed within the grimoire adapt and evolve, unlocking higher tiers of magic and ancient incantations. These runes also serve as protective wards, shielding the caster from harmful magic and curses. 

Traits: 

Ethereal Aegis: The grimoire provides a timed protective aura around the caster, shielding them from physical and magical harm. This aura can also be extended to protect allies in times of great need. 

Soul Regrowth: If the grimoire is ever destroyed, it has the ability to retreat into the user's soul, undergoing a process of regeneration until it is fully restored.

"B-By the bounds of magic." Elder Sabith whispered in disbelief, his eyes wide as he observed the grimoire hovering above Ricky. 

With a grin, Ricky began to manipulate it, making it float effortlessly in mid-air. 

Pulling out his bow, he tested his newfound control, delighting in the fact that he could wield both the weapon and the grimoire simultaneously as he couldn't help but fist pump in triumph at his unexpected success.

"This will make casting magic so much easier." Ricky whispered to himself, marveling at the newfound efficiency but also letting out a sigh of relief.

Previously, he had to concentrate fully to cast spells, but now, with the conduit of his grimoire, all he needed to do was think of the spell and inject the necessary amount of magic power into it. 

The only downside was the risk of the grimoire being destroyed; losing it would make casting a challenge again until it repaired itself. 

But for now, Ricky brushed aside those concerns, reveling in the power at his fingertips.

"Oh, darling!" Agatha rushed over to Ricky, leaping into his arms and pulling him into a deep, passionate kiss.

"You've got to be kidding me," Rachael deadpanned, her expression a mix of disbelief and annoyance and Chores, sensing her frustration, gently patted her shoulder. 

"You get used to it, eventually." Chores said, shaking his head in amusement as he walked over to Ricky to congratulate him.

"It's confusing how he gathers so much strength without notice, but oddly intriguing," Barko said, giving a gentle pat on Rachael's leg before joining Chores.

"Yes, well, only worthy of being my descendant." Percival chimed in from the side, raising his ghostly nose into the air.

"Here, here." Alexander cheered for Ricky though the man shivered, looking back at the gerbil who was already planning how to implement this into his training.

*Sigh*

"Dammit."

1 year later,

[Name: John Constantine Luciano (Variant)

Mother: Agatha Harkness

Grade: S

Template: John Constantine

Template Description: John Constantine is a complex and enigmatic character from DC Comics, primarily featured in the Hellblazer series. He is a British occult detective, con man, and magician known for his cunning, wit, and morally ambiguous nature.

Description: John's magical abilities have inherited more from you than from his mother, Agatha. Through your lineage, he has developed a unique manifestation of your core power. However, this ability stands alone; he exhibits no traits of being a warlock, suggesting that his magic is distinctly rooted in your legacy.

Innate Abilities:

Late Bloomer: John's magical abilities will bloom later on in his life rather than appear early in his life.

Ethereal Nexus Mana Circuit: A different version of the users core, the is skill is a potent but accessible skill that enables the user to connect with and harness magical energies through an internal network of mana pathways within their body. These circuits, when developed and refined, allow the practitioner to channel and amplify their magical abilities with greater control and efficiency. 

Properties:

Arcane Sensitivity: The user becomes more attuned to the ambient magical energies in their environment, gaining a basic understanding of different magical disciplines. This sensitivity allows for quicker learning and adaptation to various forms of magic. 

Mana Storage: The mana circuits within the user's body absorb and store ambient magical energies. The user can tap into this internal reserve to enhance their spells and magical abilities, providing a boost when needed. Elemental Alignment: The mana circuits adapt to the user's natural magical inclinations, enhancing their affinity with specific elements such as fire, water, earth, or air. This alignment strengthens spells of the chosen element. 

Enhanced Spells: Spells cast using the mana circuits are slightly more powerful, with increased range and accuracy. The user's magical gestures and incantations become more refined, leading to improved spellcasting efficiency. 

Dimensional Glimmer: By focusing their mana circuits, the user can temporarily shift their presence, allowing for brief moments of intangibility or evasive maneuvers. This ability is limited and requires significant concentration. 

Innate Skills:

Occultism: John has an innate skill with all things related to the occult which might lead to potential future problems.

Demonology: Constantine has a unique affinity with knowledge of demons, including their summoning, binding, and banishing. 

Necromancy Voice: He can communicate with spirits and the dead, often seeking information or assistance from beyond the grave. 

Divination: John uses various methods of divination to foresee future events or uncover hidden truths, including scrying, tarot reading, and other occult practices. 

Alchemy: Constantine possesses some knowledge of alchemical processes, allowing him to create potions and perform transmutations.

Element Control: Much like his father, he is gifted with the ability to easily wield the elements.

Indomitable Will: the ability of some characters to control their impulses and emotions in order to make their choice clear. Characters with this skill have the internal strength to overcome fear and resist mind control.

Singing: John has an innate singing ability that if trained properly, could turn into a really valuable skill.]

[Ability Gained: Ethereal Nexus Mana Circuit-]

*Ding*

[The ability Ethereal Nexus Mana Circuit has resonated with the users Ethereal Nexus Mana Core to form the Nexus Pathway]

Ethereal Nexus Pathway: The brilliant combination that merges the heart of the Ethereal Nexus Mana core, with its counterpart Ethereal Nexus Mana Circuit. With the mana generated and stored within the core, the magic is easily distributed through the pathways infused into the users body which allows for easier and more efficient use of the arcane arts.

Arcane Sensitivity: The user becomes exceptionally attuned to ambient magical energies in their environment. This heightened sensitivity grants an innate understanding of various magical disciplines in the area and easier understanding of teachings, allowing for rapid learning and adaptation to different forms of magic. 

Mana Confluence: The Aetherial Mana Circuit acts as a focal point for mana, combining with the user's heart and absorbing ambient magical energies. This stored mana can be tapped into at will, significantly amplifying the user's magical abilities when needed. 

Elemental Affinity: The circuits adapt to the user's natural magical inclinations, enhancing their affinity with specific elements such as fire, water, earth, or air. This alignment strengthens spells of the chosen element, making them more potent and effective. 

Augmented Spells: Spells cast using the Aetherial Nexus Pathway are significantly more powerful, with increased range, accuracy, and precision. The user's magical gestures and incantations are refined, leading to superior spellcasting efficiency. 

Dimensional Glimmer: By focusing their entire magic through the Nexus Pathway, the user can briefly shift their presence, allowing for moments of intangibility or evasive maneuvers. This ability requires significant concentration but provides a crucial advantage in critical situations.

Riftwalker's Veil: Channeling the power of the Nexus Mana Core, the user can move between dimensions they've been before for strategic maneuvers or to escape dire situations. This ability enhances the user's mobility and tactical options.

It was year two of Ricky's exile, and during this time, Agatha dedicated herself to teaching him the intricate art of imparting spells into his grimoire. 

At first, the process weirded him out; the requirement to use his own blood to scribe the spell's requirements onto the pages felt oddly macabre. 

Despite the initial revulsion, Ricky gradually grew accustomed to the ritual as he learned to write down the spells with a careful hand, channeling his magic into the words as they flowed onto the page, transforming his intentions into tangible magic. 

With each new incantation, he found himself creating spells from thin air, the gruesome method fading into the background as the thrill of mastery took center stage.

Ricky had not only dedicated himself to rigorous training during the day but had also been hard at work during the night, resulting in the birth of another child with Agatha. 

This new addition had sparked a surge of strength within him, pushing his abilities to new heights. 

Now, he wielded his grimoire with ease while skillfully using either his bow or sword during training sessions with Alexander and Percival. 

Over this year of strict weaponry training, Ricky developed an absolute passion for archery, finding joy in the precision and elegance of each shot. 

In contrast, he grew to despise the ebony blade, its weight and lethargy contrasting sharply with the fluid grace of his bow. 

Each practice session became a testament to his evolving preferences, marking a significant turning point in his journey as a warlock and warrior.

In fact, Ricky had come to loathe the ebony blade. As his strength increased, so did his ability to resonate with the weapon, unlocking not just its hidden power but also its voice. 

This connection allowed him to communicate with the blade, but it came with a significant drawback: they shared a mutual disdain for one another, fueled by the constant torment they inflicted on each other.

For Ricky, he was growing to loathe the blade to his very core as the ebony blade didn't just whisper dark suggestions; it actively sought to warp his mind and emotions, pushing him toward his most primal urges. 

Each time he fought against its influence, he felt the blade amplify his negative traits, stoking the flames of his bloodthirst and urging him to lose control. 

It was a constant battle against an unseen foe that knew exactly how to exploit his weaknesses.

In turn, the ebony blade harbored a deep-seated resentment toward Ricky as it loathed him not just for rejecting its seductive power time and time again, but for the way he banished it to the confines of his inventory for a 'timeout' of sorts, whenever he felt overwhelmed by its malevolent whispers. 

This humiliation only fueled its animosity, creating a vicious cycle of hatred between them. 

Ricky's struggle for autonomy was matched only by the blade's relentless desire to dominate him, each encounter a reminder of the fraught relationship that bound them together.

The ebony blade had evolved into Ricky's most vocal adversary, taking on the role of his biggest critic. It nagged at him incessantly, reminiscent of Percival but with a sharper edge. 

While Percival offered gentle guidance, the blade resorted to passive-aggressive insults, constantly reminding Ricky of its purpose: to be the dark side that protects the light. 

Traditionally, Percival's descendants were all noble and chivalrous, embodying ideals of heroism and honor. 

This lineage brought the blade a twisted sense of joy as it relished the opportunity to corrupt their virtuous spirits. 

But Ricky was different, a notorious libertine who thrived in the shadows and reveled in debauchery. 

He had little regard for the notions of public good or nobility, making him an unwitting challenge for the blade. 

The ebony blade had become utterly baffled by Ricky's shameless behavior, continuously seeking to highlight his flaws and misdeeds. 

Each sarcastic comment it delivered only served to irritate Ricky further, igniting a volatile exchange that spiraled into a toxic rivalry.

Instead of pushing him to improve, the blade's relentless criticism only fueled Ricky's resentment, leading him to neglect his swordsmanship even more.

As their bond intensified, so did the experiences it dredged up from his subconscious, exposing him to painful and unwanted recollections of past users.

However, Ricky didn't merely see these memories; he felt every single emotion and physical sensation that accompanied them. 

Each recollection washed over him like a tide, pulling him into a whirlwind of grief, regret, and anger. 

"Sheriff Wyatt, what have you done?" The man with six bands on each arm sounded, his voice barely above a whisper as he took in the horrifying scene before him.

In this small Texas town, nestled among the arid landscapes and the echoes of a bygone cowboy era, a sinister scene unfolded. Sheriff Wyatt, once the emblem of law and order, now lay at the center of chaos that had ripped the very soul from this community. The sun cast a harsh light over the devastation, illuminating the horror that had transpired.

Blood smeared across the walls like a grotesque work of art, splattering in chaotic patterns that told a tale of desperation and violence. 

The scent of iron hung heavy in the air, mixing with the dust and heat of the day. 

Women and children lay torn apart, their bodies brutally dismembered, as if some monstrous force had unleashed its fury upon the innocent. 

The men who had attempted to protect their families were no better off. 

Their bodies were nothing more than puddles of flesh, unrecognizable from the violence inflicted upon them. 

Faces that had once held determination and bravery were now reduced to grotesque masks of terror, eyes wide open in their final moments of agony, mouths frozen in silent screams.

At the center of this horror stood a man clad in a fusion of cowboy and knight attire, a juxtaposition that spoke of lost honor and desperate valor. 

He cradled a woman in his arms, her once-vibrant form now lifeless, the life drained from her in an instant. 

Tears streamed down his face, each drop mingling with the blood on his hands, a futile attempt to wash away the horror of the moment.

His wails echoed through the remnants of the town, a heart-wrenching sound that pierced the stillness, reverberating off the walls like a ghostly lament. 

As his sorrow poured forth, a red aura pulsed around him, a dark manifestation of grief and rage that seemed to pulse in rhythm with his shattered heart. 

It twisted and danced in the air, a swirling vortex of despair that surrounded him, reflecting the chaos within.

"I-It wasn't supposed to happen, I wasn't supposed to lose myself," Sheriff Wyatt stammered, his voice choking with sorrow as he looked up at the man standing before him. 

This was a side of Wyatt he had never witnessed, a broken man, stripped of his usual bravado and authority, revealing the deep vulnerability buried beneath the surface.

"I was supposed to protect them all." Sheriff Wyatt continued, his grip tightening around the lifeless body in his arms. 

He clenched his teeth, as if willing the pain to fade, but it only intensified, a raw ache that gnawed at his heart. 

More tears streamed down his cheeks, mingling with the blood on his hands, a stark contrast to the uniform he wore, a uniform that once symbolized hope and justice, now tainted by his complete failure and utter despair.

He gazed at the woman, her features forever frozen in a peaceful expression that belied the horror surrounding them. 

Memories flooded his mind: her laughter, the way her eyes sparkled in the sunlight, the warmth of her embrace. 

Now, all that remained was the cold weight of her body, a painful reminder of his inability to save her.

"B-But I-I failed." Sheriff Wyatt's head hung low, his once-proud stature now crumpled beneath the weight of his grief. 

His eyes, shimmering with a haunting red hue, betrayed the turmoil raging within him as the sword at his side whispered vile words, each syllable dripping with contempt.

'This is who you are.'

'Killer.'

'How could you have stopped something that was already preordained?'

'Murderer.'

The ebony blade flooded Sheriff Wyatt's mind with a torrent of hateful words, each one a sharp dagger twisting deeper into his psyche. 

The voice was a relentless tide, surging through his thoughts and trying to drown out any flicker of hope or rationality.

"Ha, just get it over with, Xu," Sheriff Wyatt spat, the name of the blade falling from his lips like a curse. 

With a sudden, violent motion, he hurled the sword to the side, its blade clattering against the ground, echoing in the silence of the devastated town.

"Sheriff Wyatt, the High Table sends its regards." 

The words cut through the heavy air like a knife, a prelude to the chaos that was about to erupt. 

Xu, standing tall and ominous, suddenly thrust his arms forward with deadly precision. 

The six rings shot from his hands, slicing through the stillness, propelled by an unseen force, racing toward the sheriff at unheard speeds.

Time seemed to slow for Wyatt as he closed his eyes, resignation washing over him. 

He could feel the weight of the impending doom bearing down on him, a crushing reminder of his failures and the blood that stained his hands.

*GASP*

"DAMMIT!" Ricky yelled, the frustration surging through him like a wildfire as he hurled the blade aside. 

'YOU DARE THROW MY NOBLE BEING!' The Ebony Blade screeched in his mind, its voice a twisted blend of outrage and disdain as Ricky clenched his jaw, the shrill sound grating against his nerves.

"How can I f*cking sleep when you're always in my goddamn head? I swear to God, I'm going to melt you down into crappy keychains!" Ricky shouted, his frustration boiling over as he kicked the blade again. 

The Ebony Blade vibrated violently in response, the sound of its rage echoing in his mind like a twisted symphony.

On the sidelines, Percival watched with a troubled expression, concern etched across his features.

Ricky was about to reach his breaking point as the mind-altering side effects of the ebony blade had become too much to bear, pushing him to the edge of sanity. 

Each time he wielded it, he felt as if he were teetering on the brink of a dark abyss, losing fragments of himself to its insidious whispers. 

No matter how many skills he had honed to bolster his willpower and regulate his emotions, they all crumbled like brittle leaves in a storm whenever the blade was drawn into his berserk state.

Ricky had fought tooth and nail to cultivate his mental resilience, only to have it unraveled by this cursed weapon that thrived on his negativity that pulled from deep within in

It was maddening; he felt like a puppet, strings pulled taut by a malevolent force, and no amount of practice or training could save him from the blade's relentless manipulation whenever he went into his berserk state.

"It seems I must prolong my stay a while longer." Percival admitted, his eyes drifting from the retreating figure of Ricky to the ominous sword that lay abandoned at his feet. 

The truth behind Percival's lingering presence was more profound than mere guidance. 

Percival had been destined to depart once the Black Knight and the ebony blade forged their connection at the original ceremony. 

However, despite that fateful bond being established, a rift had only widened between them, one that gnawed at Percival's conscience and tethered him to this realm.

As he watched Ricky grapple with the overwhelming influence of the sword, it became painfully clear that the young warrior was spiraling further into conflict. 

The bond that should have united them instead became a source of strife, with Ricky's own negative personality wrestling against the blade's dark whispers and the insidious pull of its power.

However, Percival began to realize that the deeper Ricky delved into his connection with the ebony blade, the more he resisted wielding its formidable power. 

Each interaction with the sword seemed to sap his desire to use it, creating a paradox that both intrigued and troubled the knight.

This growing aversion left Percival in a precarious position as he knew that the ebony blade, if left unchecked, could easily fall into the hands of Morgana, a fate that could spell disaster not only for Ricky but for the entire realm. 

Morgana's insatiable hunger for power would drive her to exploit the sword's dark capabilities, unleashing chaos and devastation.

Thus, Percival faced a conundrum: he needed to support Ricky in navigating his tumultuous relationship with the blade while also ensuring that it remained beyond Morgana's reach.

Ricky had become skilled enough to fend off mental attacks even in his sleep, a testament to his growing strength. 

Yet, Percival harbored a troubling suspicion: if Morgana ever approached Ricky with the seductive offer to relieve him of the ebony blade, his descendant would likely leap at the chance after his bout with Dracula was finished.

At this moment, Ricky wasn't about to part with the ebony blade; it was an essential tool in his quest to defeat Dracula. 

The power it wielded and the strength it granted him were invaluable assets in the battle ahead and yet, beneath that determination lay a troubling uncertainty for Percival.

What haunted him was the thought of what might happen after the dust settled and Dracula was vanquished. 

Would Ricky still possess the same resolve to keep the blade by his side once its primary purpose had been fulfilled? 

The ebony blade was a double-edged sword, its power could just as easily corrupt as it could empower. 

Ricky's relationship with the weapon was fraught with tension, and Percival feared that the more they fought together, the more Ricky might grow weary of its burdensome influence.

Secondly, Percival harbored deep reservations about leaving Ricky alone, especially given the young man's tendency to act irresponsibly with items that didn't align with his whims. 

In the past, Percival had witnessed Ricky's impulsive nature lead to precious artifacts being carelessly stored away or even discarded entirely. 

Although this behavior was slowly changing it still left Percival in a precarious position, torn between duty and concern.

Ricky needed to embrace his role as the Black Knight; the world depended on him embodying that legacy. 

As the last of Percival's bloodline, Ricky was not just a descendant but a critical link in a lineage that bore the weight of destiny.

Although Percival had come to realize that Zatanna was not only his daughter but also part of his bloodline, time was a luxury the world could no longer afford. 

The ominous signs of war were becoming more pronounced, and he sensed that the days of peace were dwindling rapidly. 

Each passing moment brought them closer to a confrontation that could shatter everything they held dear.

Zatanna, still a child, would need years to mature and hone her abilities before she could take on the mantle of responsibility that awaited her. 

But with the threat looming larger on the horizon, Percival understood that waiting 15 to 18 years for her to rise was not an option, leaving all his eggs in Ricky's basket.

The next day,

"Dammit, give me a second." Ricky held his head, slamming the blade into the dirt and walking over to catch a breather.

After six grueling hours of practicing swordsmanship, Ricky's body had grown weary, but it was his mind that felt on the verge of exploding.

"Percival?" Alexander hurriedly approached the floating ghostly figure, catching sight of Ricky storming away from the training grounds, his resolve evident in every step.

Over time, Ricky's skillset has evolved, with his proficiencies now reaching impressive levels in the following areas:

(Epic Skill) Advanced Archery: the user has embraced the art of archery, representing the peak of skill and precision with a bow and arrow. This advanced skill is the culmination of rigorous training, discipline, and an innate connection to the weapon. Archers with this ability are unparalleled marksmen, capable of extraordinary feats that transcend ordinary archery.

(Epic Skill) Advanced Swordsmanship: represents a higher level of proficiency in the art of wielding a sword, surpassing the basics and moving towards more advanced techniques. This epic skill is acquired through dedicated practice and experience, showcasing a complete grasp of fundamental and intermediate sword fighting methods. Individuals with this skill are adept in various aspects of sword combat and demonstrate enhanced control, precision, and effectiveness in battle.

(Rare Skill) Proficient Spearmanship: signifies an advanced level of proficiency in the art of wielding a spear. This rare skill is developed through extensive training and practice, allowing the wielder to execute precise and effective techniques. Individuals with this skill demonstrate exceptional control, versatility, and tactical understanding, making them formidable opponents in combat.

(Rare Skill) Proficient Hand-to-Hand Combat: signifies a high level of proficiency in unarmed fighting techniques. This rare skill is developed through rigorous training and practical experience, allowing the practitioner to execute precise and effective strikes, grapples, and defensive maneuvers. Individuals with this skill demonstrate exceptional control, strength, and tactical understanding, making them formidable opponents in close-quarters combat.

*Sigh*

"It appears my stay has been extended," Percival sighed, a hint of frustration in his voice as he considered how to bridge the growing rift between the Ebony Blade and Ricky.

"Pardon me, Alexander, I must speak with young Ricky." Percival faded from Alexander's sight, reappearing directly in Ricky's path as he strode away.

"Give me a second, just a little more time so that headache goes away." Ricky waved off Percival, half expecting his ancestors constant nagging over the years.

Though Percival was a legendary swordsman, his ghostly form seemed to lack any concept of an 'off switch'. Ricky's patience had worn thin, Percival's relentless presence meant that every moment together became an endless loop of criticism and nagging.

It wasn't that Ricky minded the criticism; he understood that improvement required acknowledging and addressing his faults.

For example with Alexander, Ricky felt like he could catch a break as Alexander knew when to set aside his instructor role, taking time to simply chat or even play a casual game of Go Fish. 

But with Percival, there was no reprieve and Teaching mode was always on, 24/7, with the ghostly knight holding Ricky to an impossibly high standard at all times. 

Every misstep, every slight flaw, was met with a pointed critique or a stern lecture. 

Percival's comments weren't malicious, they were laser-focused, dissecting Ricky's every movement, reminding him of the nuances of technique, balance, and discipline. 

Yet, this endless stream of scrutiny wore on Ricky, making him feel like he could never catch his breath.

Even outside of training, Percival's lessons continued, hovering like a specter over every attempt Ricky made to relax. 

Whether he was eating, resting, or even trying to distract himself with a few minutes of solitude, Percival would materialize to offer advice, corrections, or reminders of the knightly virtues. 

It was as if the ghost had no concept of rest, let alone the idea that Ricky might need a moment to simply be himself.

Every moment felt like an opportunity for Percival to chime in with his relentless critique. 

Ricky would wake up to find Percival already there, pointing out that he'd overslept or hadn't prepared for the day with sufficient vigor. 

He'd sit down to eat, only for Percival to launch into a lecture on table manners and knightly etiquette. 

Training was, of course, a barrage of feedback on his improper form, his stance, his grip, every tiny misalignment analyzed in exhaustive detail. 

Even at night, as Ricky crawled into bed, exhausted and craving a moment of peace, Percival would reappear, going over everything he'd done wrong that day with almost supernatural persistence.

It was like being stuck in a constant, suffocating loop as no matter where Ricky went or what he did, Percival's unwavering 'teacher mode' was always there, following him like a shadow he couldn't shake.

This relentless approach clashed painfully with Ricky's personality, eroding any goodwill he might have felt toward his spectral teacher. 

Where Ricky valued moments of independence and space to find his own way, Percival's nonstop criticism only made him feel stifled, judged, and increasingly resentful.

"I will leave you alone on two conditions," Percival's sudden statement made Ricky freeze mid-step.

"What, really?" Ricky shot to his feet, half-expecting that this ghost would haunt him for all eternity.

"If you can prove to me that you can uphold these conditions." Percival continued, his voice solemn. 

"Then I will leave you in peace and return to the heavens, at least until I am called upon to guide the next Black Knight-"

"Wait, wait, wait, let me get this straight." Ricky replied, struggling to hold back a laugh. 

"You choose to stay here of your own free will, but now you expect me to agree to two mystery conditions just because you're the most annoying ghost I've ever met?" Ricky leaned back in his seat, looking at Percival who pursed his lips.

"Like I get you're teaching my swordsmanship and don't get me wrong, I'm thankful, but go f*ck yourself." Ricky laughed at this ghost, covering his face since it had been a while since he had laughed this hard.

It felt surreal, almost like he'd stepped into some twisted version of reality where Percival actually thought Ricky would be grateful for the offer.

"Are you done?" Percival inquired, seeing Ricky let out his laughter before the man wiped the sweat from his forehead.

"Yeah, lay your conditions on me." Ricky shook his head, spreading his arms in exasperation, wanting nothing more than to rid himself of this ever-present ghost. 

"Number one, you need to be the Black Knight and I will not relent on this." Percival's insistence soured Ricky's expression. 

"And you HAVE to be the Black Knight until you have a child to take up the mantle." Percival held up his second finger as Ricky paused, his defiance wavering as he began to mull over the weight of these demands.

At first, Ricky was thrilled at the prospect of becoming the Black Knight; the excitement coursed through him like electricity at all the power and notoriety he held. 

The notoriety that came with the title was intoxicating, and the perks were undeniably appealing. 

Yet the main reason he had sought the mantle in the first place was to earn respect within the church.

Now, having already made a name for himself, Ricky's focus had shifted as he craved the strength of the blade not to fulfill the legacy of the Black Knight but to vanquish Dracula. 

Yet, with each passing day, he found himself only caring about the power instead of the position that the Black Knight held.

In fact, Ricky didn't see any need to maintain the Black Knight facade once he returned to New York. 

The title held little significance in New York, as it was primarily relevant in parts of Europe. 

To Ricky, the true value lay in the ebony blade itself, not in the legacy of the Black Knight as he saw the sword as a powerful weapon, far more meaningful than the title it carried.

Percival, however, could see the writing on the wall and recognized that once Ricky achieved his goals, he would likely abandon his duties, leaving the legacy of the original Black Knight in a precarious position.

"Honestly, old man, why should I be the Black Knight?" Ricky crossed his arms and leaned back, fixing his gaze on Percival. 

"What's so special about being a crazed, bloodthirsty knight? I get that it's a symbol, but why should I have to suffer under your stupid oath of chivalry?" 

Before Percival could respond, Ricky suddenly realized for the first time that he had something that this unmaterialistic ghost wanted.

It was then a sly smile formed on his face, knowing that for the first time in their ancestor descendent relationship, he actually had the upper hand.

"You know what? I'll take on the role of the Black Knight, but only on two of my own conditions." Ricky grabbed hold of the conversation, flipping it onto a negation as a spark of inspiration flickered in his mind, prompting Percival to raise an eyebrow in curiosity.

"And those are?"

"One, I'm done being just a regular symbol and wearing this helmet. After I kill Dracula, I'm taking it off and revealing to the world that I, Ricky Luciano, am the Black Knight." Ricky thumped his chest, defying the tradition of the Black Knight who would nobly cast aside their identity to embrace the persona.

In truth, Ricky pondered the role and realized he didn't want the Black Knight to dictate his actions. Instead, he envisioned the title as a shadow, trailing behind him as he forged his own path. 

Ricky aimed to craft the narrative of his life for future gain, making it unmistakably clear that he was the Black Knight but that wasn't all he was.

Percival frowned, recognizing the irony as the essence of the Black Knight was to embody chivalry and throw away one's identity for the greater good, a principle that Ricky seemed unwilling to uphold.

"And the second?"

"I want a position within the church, not just as a knight, but as an honorable member among the priests." Ricky boldly proclaimed and Percival was taken aback, surprised by the audacity of his request, knowing full well how impossible it was.

"You can't be a knight and hold a position within the priesthood at the same time; the structure is set up in such a way that-

"Well, I'm sure the Pope can make an exception," Ricky said with a confident smile, fully aware that Percival had the connections to make it happen.

"Listen, if you want me to agree to your conditions, you'll have to meet mine. It's a give-and-take situation." Ricky, with a firm pat on his chest, turned and walked away, leaving no room for Percival to respond.

"Also, while you're there, do me a favor and tell a priest named Sebastian that Abraham has died," Ricky suddenly added, realizing that Abraham's death could still be unknown to the church. 

He knew he couldn't appear at the Vatican just yet, but he wanted Percival to relay the message, just in case Sebastian hadn't heard the news and as a friend, he deserved to know.

Walking into the room he had shared with Agatha, she was holding baby John in her arms after nursing him to sleep while Zatanna played with Garfield's ears.

"Do you see what's happening to me?" Garfield asked with a sigh towards the reader, pushing Zatanna away only for her to giggle and crawl back to him.

The cat was distinctly disgruntled at its new role, which had devolved into little more than a glorified training assistant. 

Being used to help Ricky harness more magic in his warlock training while being a babysitter in his downtime so that the two could mingle with one another.

"Look, paw!" Garfield raised his paw, immediately capturing Zatanna's attention as she lunged to grab it, only for him to lift it out of her reach.

"What a sucker-" Garfield chuckled, amused at tricking the little girl, whose eyes began to well up with tears.

"Kya!" Zatanna abruptly used her magic to yank Garfield forward, grabbing his paw and sending the cat tumbling flat on his face.

*Sigh*

"What has my life become?" Garfield whined, face planting into the rug, feeling more like Zatanna's plaything than the great cosmic cat.

Ricky flopped face-first onto the bed, where Agatha side-eyed him as she brushed John's little blond hair, which was strikingly complemented by Ricky's signature green eyes.

"Here, darling." Agatha pulled out a red vial, handing it to Ricky who looked at it for a moment before downing it fast.

Over the past year, Ricky, now recognized as a warlock, had begun to fully embrace the support of the coven and its vast resources. 

Along with the multitude of spells embedded in his grimoire thanks to Agatha, he also gained access to an array of potent elixirs.

Witches and warlocks are inherently gifted with significant magical power, but the downside is their reliance on grimoires and the limitations of their often frail bodies. 

To counteract these weaknesses, they had spent centuries developing elixirs designed to enhance their physical strength, all culminating in a growth elixir. 

This particular potion was crucial during a witch or warlock's growth period, dramatically fortifying the body.

However, Ricky was an anomaly and already blessed with a naturally strong constitution, the elixir seemed to amplify his abilities even further, pushing his limits beyond what anyone had anticipated.

Strength: 43→47 (Lower realm of Superhuman strength)

Stamina: 41→49 (Lower realm of Superhuman.)

Vitality: 46→55 (Middle realm of Superhuman.)

Agility: 37→42(Lower realm of Superhuman)

Dexterity: 40→44(Lower realm of Superhuman strength)

Intelligence: 27→30 (Peak adult male)

Mana: 65→72 (Middle realm of Superhuman.)

Charm: 38→40 (Your charm has finally reached superhuman levels)

Appearance: 38→40 (A superhuman appearance that transcends humans.)

"Darling, what is the matter?" Agatha asked curiously, usually seeing Ricky tired after training with ALexander and Percival rather than frustrated.

"It's that godforsaken sword again," Ricky sighed as he spotted Zatanna crawling toward him. He scooped her up, holding her aloft in the air.

As she felt the rush of being lifted, Zatanna flapped her tiny limbs excitedly, while Garfield looked up at the author with a relieved sigh.

"Quick, just kill me off, I can't do this anymore!" Garfield whined, lamenting his small responsibilities as he cried out to the author for mercy.

"Again?" Agatha asked, sitting up and gently placing the previously crying John in his cradle a short distance away before walking over to Garfield.

"Darling, why don't you focus on your bow? You're such an amazing archer." Agatha suggested, trying to find a solution as she sat beside him, stroking his sleek black hair.

"I want to, but it's a sword that literally cuts through anything. I'd be an idiot to do something like throw it away or not put it into my fighting style." Ricky sighed, placing Zatanna on one of his feet, lifting her higher into the air as she began to kick her limbs playfully, as if she were swimming.

"Besides, I just made a deal with Percival. He wants me to be the Black Knight until one of my kids is old enough to take my place-"

*Smack*

"Darling, no. Our babies will not use that cursed sword." Agatha lightly smacked his forehead, causing him to frown as she then took Zatanna from him, holding her close.

"But-"

"Ricky." Agatha squinted her eyes making Ricky sigh but nod, placing Zatanna over to the side with Garfield once more.

"Oh god, please, not the ears-ow!" Garfield looked up, only to see the horrid baby reach for his ears then tug down.

"What was the deal?" Agatha asked, gently parting some strands of hair that had fallen into his face.

"I'll get an honorary position within the church, I get to tell the world I'm the Black Knight, and Percival leaves. But I have to actually be the Black Knight and not throw it away once I get what I want." Ricky replied promptly, mulling over his conditions as Agatha frowned at his words.

"Darling, do you really think it's a good idea to reveal to the world that you're the Black Knight?" Agatha asked worriedly, knowing it would essentially put a target on his back.

"I'll only do it if I manage to kill Dracula. Worst-case scenario, if I fail, I'll have an honorary position in the church. That way, if anything happens to me, the Vatican will take care of you and the kids," Ricky said, raising his hand to caress her cheek and Agatha smiled, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on his forehead.

"You've really grown as a man." Agatha warmly smiled at him as Ricky looked surprised.

"You think?" Ricky asked, unbeknownst to his own development of character as it was slow that it was hardly recognizable.

"Of course, normally you'd think something like 'I'll get more stuff and anything else doesn't matter' but instead, you thought of us as well. You've really grown." Agatha chuckled, and Ricky didn't realize it until she pointed it out.

"I'm proud of you," Agatha said, kissing him once more before taking Zatanna and walking her to the room next to hers.

"That's why you'll get a treat~" Agatha cooed, instantly stirring something within Ricky as she lowered her head as Ricky smiled while putting his hands behind his head.

"Nice."

Later that night,

In the dead of midnight, as the full moon cast its glow over the holy Vatican, Pope Pius sat wide awake in his chambers.

"Your Holiness," Percival phased through the walls, appearing before the Pope, who slowly stood up in surprise.

"I was wondering when I'd see you again, Sir Percival," Pope Pius said warmly, smiling as he sat up, lighting a nearby candle and walking over to a modest table.

"How has the church fared in the Black Knight's absence?" Percival inquired, hovering before sitting in the chair across from him.

"It has been quite troublesome. It seems Ricky has made significant progress, especially since Dracula has taken extreme measures to find him." Pope Pius replied, gazing into the flickering flame of the candle as the screams of the fallen echoed in his mind.

"The night raids have intensified lately. Even after learning that we are not harboring him, Dracula is insistent on tearing apart every holy site and targeting any holy member in his efforts to find him." Pope Pius gazed up at Percival, who wore a troubled expression, balling his fist.

"But, with such drastic measures, he must be desperate so the ends justify the means." Pope Pius released his fist, knowing that Dracula must be affected in some way to make him go to such lengths.

"How has the new Black Knight progressed?" Pope Pius asked, only for Percival to rub his forehead in frustration.

"Your Holiness, my descendant has reached a point where he has yet to fully accept the ebony blade as his companion," Percival revealed, laying bare the troubling situation and Pope Pius's expression mirrored Percival's concern.

"I'm afraid that once my descendant vanquishes Dracula, he will abandon his position as the Black Knight and cast aside all the duties that come with upholding its symbol." Percival continued, remarking his troubles with Ricky.

"I see."

Upon hearing this, Pope Pius felt an increasing sense of dread and not only did he have to contend with Dracula's supernatural army at night, but also the Nazis under Hitler during the day. 

The regime had been applying relentless pressure on the Vatican to recognize their beliefs and sanction a holy war, claiming it was God's will.

In the depths of his mind, Pope Pius understood that following the whims of the Nazis and invoking God's will in such a manner would only lead to unbridled chaos and bloodshed that would end the church as he knew it.

However, there was a closely guarded secret that had contributed to the Vatican's recent decline, prompting Pope Pius to relent.

"Sir Percival, every force we have on the side of the church is needed at this moment to fend off the rising threats," Pope Pius revealed, only for Percival to raise an eyebrow at this.

"Your Holiness, is something the matter? The church has never needed all its forces; it has always had the direct support of God-"

"God has disappeared." Pope Pius revealed, shocking Percival, who let out a silent breath.

"I have had many encounters with the Council of Faith, and the archangels are maintaining Heaven's order, but we do not have the direct support of His Holiness now." Pope Pius emphasized the urgency of the situation as Percival fell silent.

"Whatever the Black Knight desires and is within my power, I shall grant it." Pope Pius said, gazing up at Percival, who wore a stern expression before nodding.

"Then my descendant seeks an honorary position within the Church and support from the Vatican when he reveals himself to the world." Percival laid out the conditions, and Pope Pius, recognizing the impossibility of the request yet feeling he had no choice, reluctantly relented.

"If your descendant promises to wield the sword and be the Black Knight, I will agree to your conditions."

With this agreement, Percival and Pope Pius nodded, Percival then remembering one more thing.

"And may I have the whereabouts of Father Sebastion, I have a message for him?"

Meanwhile outside the vatican,

Right now, Father Sebastian was handing out bread to the needy, his warm smile radiating kindness that seemed to know no bounds. 

As he interacted with each person, offering both sustenance and a prayer, Percival watched from a distance, choosing not to disrupt the holy man's efforts. 

He let Father Sebastian finish distributing the bread and sharing moments of grace before retreating to pack up.

It was only when the father reentered the Vatican that Percival appeared before him, catching Father Sebastian off guard.

"A-Ah, Sir Percival, it is an honor to be in your presence." Father Sebastion bowed graciously, Percival showing a respectful expression.

"Father-" Percival's heartfelt expression suddenly shook Father Sebastian to his very core. 

The weight of those two syllables carried an unmistakable heaviness, a premonition that something was profoundly wrong before Father Sebastian lowered his head.

"H-He didn't make it, did he?" Father Sebastion seemingly read the thoughts of the ghost who merely closed his mouth, nodding.

"I-I see." Father Sebastian was taken aback, in shock, walking to the side and sitting down.

"May I ask how?" Father Sebastian showed a warm smile, knowing deep down that Abraham was already gone but hoping he was merely pretending.

"Honorably, he sacrificed himself so that my descendant could flee." Percival's words brought tears to Father Seabstian's eyes, rubbing them away gently.

*Sniff*

"They always told me I was a fool for befriending that 'demon,' saying Abraham was nothing more than an old drunkard." Father Sebastian spoke from the heart, his voice laced with a mix of sorrow and defiance as Percival listened intently.

"They said his life was a waste, that spending time with him would only tarnish my standing." Father Sebastian suddenly stood, gazing up into the blue sky, his expression reflecting the warmth of cherished memories.

"But it warms my heart that they were all wrong since in the end, that so-called selfish drunkard, the stain of the Vatican-" Father Sebastian paused, his heart swelling with bittersweet pride as he turned away, walking back toward the church, the sun casting a golden glow around him.

"Died selflessly for another."

Father Sebastian wasn't sad that Abraham died, but happy that he got to meet Abraham.

His steps echoed through the halls of the church, each sounding a reminder of the man who was often labeled a horrible person by others, yet to him, Abraham was his best friend. 

As Father Sebastian glanced at the cross to the side, memories began to surface, moments of laughter and shared struggles, of conversations that transcended judgment and societal labels. 

The warmth of their friendship enveloped him, bringing a bittersweet smile to his lips as he remembered the man behind the facade, the one who had shown him the true meaning of compassion and acceptance.

"Oh, come on, Seb, it doesn't make sense." Abraham took a bite of his apple, tapping the cross next to him as Father Sebastian scrubbed the floors nearby.

"Why would Jesus just let himself die? Who does that?" Abraham's brow furrowed, struggling to grasp the concept as Father Sebastian continued his task.

"I don't think one can truly understand selfless sacrifice without being given the opportunity," Father Sebastian replied, a gentle smile spreading across his face as he cleaned until the floor reflected that warmth.

"I believe that one day, you'll find yourself in a situation like that, and you'll see why." Father Sebastian added, chuckling lightly and Abraham scoffed, leaning back with a mix of disbelief and amusement.

"Seb, that's like telling me to go die-"

"Well, you might not have to be told if you step on these clean floors with those muddy boots." Father Sebastian stood up, grabbing the bucket as Abraham flinched, suddenly aware that every spot around him had been meticulously cleaned.

"W-Wait, Seb, where am I supposed to go-"

"Hm, I wonder where," Father Sebastian teased, glancing at the empty church before turning his back. 

"I wonder where you are, Abraham." 

The playful banter hung in the air, underscored by a deeper understanding of friendship and sacrifice.

Meanwhile at New Salem,

Eventually, Percival returned to Ricky's chambers, where he found Ricky stepping out of the shower.

"Did he agree?" Ricky asks, using another towel to dry off his hair and Percival nodded.

"Yes, young Ricky, His Holiness has agreed to your demands, provided that you uphold your duties as the Black Knight." Percival nodded and Ricky looked at the ghost, scratching his chin thoughtfully.

In that moment, Ricky fully embraced his identity as the Black Knight, ready to carry the mantle until a suitable replacement could be found.

However, now that the ghost was leaving, Ricky felt an unsettling mix of emotions wash over him. 

For the past two years, Percival had been like a tick, an ever-present companion, clinging to him and guiding him through the tumultuous journey of becoming a knight. 

The loss of that constant support left him actually surprised, a sensation akin to stepping out from the warmth of a protective shadow into the cold light of uncertainty.

His swordsmanship had indeed progressed remarkably and where once he had struggled with the weight of the blade, now he wielded it with grace and confidence, executing maneuvers that had once felt impossible. 

Percival's training had pushed him to master techniques, develop precision, and discover the rhythm of combat. 

Yet, beneath the surface of his achievements, the ghost's warnings echoed ominously in Ricky's mind. 

Percival had emphasized that if Ricky continued to rely solely on his teachings, he risked stunting the growth of his own unique fighting style.

'Adaptation is key.' Percival had always told him, a sage's wisdom woven into the fabric of his ghostly presence. 

'Learn from my techniques, yes, but do not become a mere reflection of my past. A knight's strength lies in his ability to innovate and grow beyond the boundaries of tradition.'

This lesson weighed heavily on Ricky now as he understood that every warrior needed to find their voice in combat, to mold their own identity within the art of swordplay.

"So, I guess this really is goodbye." Ricky chuckled, although deep down he knew it would feel a little empty with Percival gone but easily shrugged it off, knowing he would get over it.

"So it is. But before I go, may I say goodbye to someone?" Percival asked, and Ricky shrugged, turning to the side.

"They're your goodbyes, not mine," Ricky replied, genuinely puzzled as to why Percival needed permission buttill, he relented and gave in. 

As Percival disappeared and reappeared in a small room, Alexander was neatly making his bed as he looked up, a smile spreading across his face at the delightful intrusion.

"Ah, Percival! Have you come to relish in the times of old?" Alexander asked gleefully, only to see Percival shaking his head slowly.

"No, my friend, my time has come at last." Percival revealed, causing Alexander to freeze in place.

"O-Oh, I see." Alexander's voice was heavy with sadness as he had known this moment would come eventually, but he never thought he would witness the day.

"But what of Ricky's training, your swordsmanship-"

"My swordsmanship isn't suited for young Ricky. It is time for him to find his own path with all the tools I've given him," Percival revealed, understanding that if he continued to teach Ricky in his ways, it might stunt the young man's future potential.

"And besides, I'm sure you'll do a fine job mentoring him, as you are a wiser teacher than I ever could be," Percival complimented, recognizing how Alexander had truly managed to earn Ricky's difficult respect and connect with him in a way that he himself struggled to do, often finding it challenging to even remain in the same room as his own blood.

*Sniff*

"I will never forget you, Ser Percival; first Black Knight, hero of Scandia, knight of the Round Table, and a cherished friend," Alexander said, his voice thick with emotion as he fought back tears. Percival smiled warmly at him, a mixture of pride and affection in his spectral gaze.

"And I will never forget you, Alexander the Great, sovereign of Macedonia, commander of the Paeonians, vanquisher of Europe, and most of all, a cherished friend," Percival said, taking Alexander's furry hand in a firm shake. 

As their hands clasped, a sense of warmth and camaraderie filled the air. 

But soon, Percival began to wither away, his form gradually transcending into the heavens, leaving behind a lingering sense of connection and gratitude.

"Goodbye friend, may you rest in peace once more."

Author's Note: I think that I'm gonna make a pateron soon but the only problem is that I gotta get my lazy ass to acutally revise five chapters ahead.