Transmigrated as the Villainess Princess - Chapter 150

Chapter 150: Magnus Bloodstone (Special Chapter)
The Bloodstone royal family had long been regarded as one of the most powerful lineages in the history of Sirius and Agartha.

Their influence spanned generations, shaping the interstellar landscape through war, diplomacy, and innovation.

Their rule was marked by unshakable authority, their bloodline a beacon of strength.

Kings, warriors, scholars, and strategists, each generation produced figures who left their mark on history. But among them, there was one who stood out in a different way.

Magnus Bloodstone, the sickly genius, was an anomaly in his own family.

Unlike the towering figures of his ancestors, he was physically weak from birth, his body plagued by an unknown condition that left him frail and often bedridden.

His parents had feared he would never survive childhood, yet his mind was unmatched.

He had a natural talent for magic, his ability to manipulate mana surpassing even the most gifted elders at a young age.

He was also a healer, a prodigy in the arts of restoration and medicine, able to mend wounds and cure ailments that even the most seasoned practitioners struggled with.

At the age of fifteen, he entered Xizonrie First Military Academy, not as a warrior like his forebears, but as a scholar of both the magical and medical arts.

Unlike most students who chose a single house to dedicate themselves to, Magnus was the first in history to be accepted into two houses at the same time, Vanderin, the domain of sorcery, and Elemrian, the sanctuary of healers.

This dual membership meant that he had to split his time between the two, constantly traveling back and forth between the branches.

His days were spent studying grimoires, brewing potions, and practicing spells, while his nights were often spent wandering through the academy’s halls, lost in thought or searching for rare texts in the library.

It was during one of these late-night walks that Magnus first experienced something unnatural.

It began with a whisper.

At first, he thought it was merely the wind passing through the grand corridors of Vanderin’s tower.

The academy was known for its eerie atmosphere, after all. But the whisper did not fade. It grew louder, persistent, a voice calling his name in a hushed, almost affectionate tone.

“Magnus.”

He turned, but the hallway was empty.

Thinking it was his imagination, he dismissed it and continued on his way. But as he walked, the temperature dropped.

A cold unlike any he had ever felt seeped into his bones, despite the protective magic woven into his robes.

His breath turned to mist in front of him, his footsteps echoing unnaturally against the stone floor.

Then he saw it.

A figure stood at the far end of the hall, barely visible in the dim torchlight.

At first, it appeared to be a student like himself, but as Magnus focused his gaze, his heart clenched in terror. The figure had no face.

Where its eyes, nose, and mouth should have been, there was only smooth, pale skin.

Magnus stumbled back, his fingers instinctively reaching for the spell inscriptions on his wrist.

A barrier spell, his strongest one. But before he could activate it, the figure moved. Not walked, not ran, moved, as if the very space around it bent to its will.

One moment it was at the end of the hall, the next it was mere steps away from him.

“Magnus,” it whispered again, but the voice did not come from it. It came from everywhere.

Panic surged through him. He cast his spell in desperation, a golden barrier flaring to life around him.

The moment the magic formed, the figure twisted, its body jerking unnaturally as if repelled by the light.

It let out a sound, not a scream, but something raw and wrong, a noise that clawed at his mind. Then, in an instant, it was gone.

Magnus stood frozen, his body trembling.

For the next few days, the experience haunted him. He could not sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he heard the whisper.

Every time he stepped into the halls of Vanderin at night, the shadows seemed to stretch toward him. The torches flickered unnaturally. The feeling of being watched never left him.

He began avoiding the corridors at night, but it did not help. The presence followed him.

Even in the daylight, he would catch glimpses of something in the corners of his vision. His studies began to suffer.

He, who had once been the most promising student in both houses, now struggled to focus, his mind clouded by exhaustion and fear.

But Magnus was a Bloodstone. And a Bloodstone did not cower.

On the fourth night after his first encounter, he made a decision. He would not run. He would face it.

He armed himself with his strongest spells, prepared a series of enchanted talismans, and waited.

He did not go to his dormitory that night. Instead, he went back to the same corridor, alone.

The whisper came immediately. “Magnus.”

This time, he did not flinch. The cold followed, the air thick with unseen energy. Then, the figure appeared once more, just as it had before.

But this time, Magnus spoke first. “What do you want?”

The figure stopped. The air grew impossibly still. Then, it raised its hand.

Magnus braced himself, expecting an attack, but instead, something fell from its grasp, a book. A small, leather-bound volume, old and worn.

Cautiously, he picked it up. The moment his fingers brushed the cover, the figure vanished.

Heart pounding, Magnus examined the book. There was no title. No markings. But as he flipped through the pages, he realized what it was. It was a journal.

And it did not belong to him.

The handwriting was elegant yet frantic, the words scrawled in a mixture of languages, some he recognized, others he did not.

But what unsettled him the most was the name signed at the bottom of the first page. It was his own name.

Magnus Bloodstone.

Yet the date inscribed was over a century before his birth. A chill ran down his spine. He had been prepared to fight a ghost, a demon, some malevolent entity from the academy’s past.

But this… this was something far worse. This was a mystery that defied time itself. And as he read on, his horror deepened.

The journal spoke of things he had not yet done. Places he had not yet visited. Knowledge he had not yet learned.

It spoke of a fate he had not yet met. And on the very last page, scrawled in the same frantic hand, was a single warning.

“Do not let it take you.”

Magnus did not sleep that night.

And from that moment on, he understood one thing, he was not just studying at the academy.

He was part of something far greater than himself.

And something, or someone, was watching.