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The "Magicless" Blood Bag Is The Supreme Mage

Shu Yu

5.0

Fantasy

10 Chapters

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For four years, I lived as the adopted orphan of the noble Hayes family, treated as nothing more than a living blood bag for my sister, Yvonne. They claimed Yvonne was dying and needed my core essence to survive. In reality, she was entirely healthy, suffering only the backfire of an illegal ritual used to steal my pureblood vitality. While Yvonne played the fragile, weeping victim on her silk bed, my adoptive mother drove silver needles deep into my veins. Everyone in the house praised Yvonne's angelic nature and sneered at me as an ungrateful, magicless stray. When I finally refused to be their livestock, they launched a massive smear campaign in the national newspaper. "She is a jealous monster who deliberately abandoned her dying sister," the headlines screamed. They assumed a penniless, anemic girl with no backing would quickly crawl back to their door, begging for table scraps and offering up her veins again. They had no idea who was actually walking in this starved body now. The memories of Nyx, the elite Chief Enforcer of the Magic Council, had just awakened within my fragile shell. I calmly ripped the extraction needle from my flesh and went straight to the Registry to burn our magical adoption contract to ashes. They wanted to destroy my reputation and drain me dry? I would build my own empire and collect every single ounce of stolen blood back from them. With interest.

Weak to Strong/Poor to Rich

The "Magicless" Blood Bag Is The Supreme Mage Chapter 1

Eloise POV:

"Eloise! Look at what you've done to your sister!"

The shriek tore through the drawing room before I could even clear the fog from my eyes. A sharp shove hit my shoulder. I stumbled back against the velvet couch, my boots catching on the woven carpet. The metallic tang of old blood filled the back of my throat.

Eighteen. I was eighteen again.

Agnes Parker, my adoptive mother, stood over me. Her face was twisted in fury, her manicured nails digging into my sleeve.

On the marble floor lay Isla Parker, the family's trueborn daughter and my adoptive sister. She had curled her body into an exquisite posture of agony. Her face was chalk-white, her lips parted in trembling gasps. A thin smudge of purple light-the trademark hue of magical backlash-flickered along her collarbones.

In my past life, this was the exact afternoon they drained my magical core to "stabilize" her. For years, I had played the role of a mediocre, untalented ward within these walls, enduring their abuse in a foolish attempt to earn their love.

But outside their watchful eyes, I had lived a completely different truth. My innate thirst for magic had been too fierce to extinguish. At ten years old, my raw, untamed talent had caught the attention of the clandestine Order of the Burning Phoenix. Under their secret tutelage, I had devoured advanced magical theory and ancient knowledge far beyond the Academy's curriculum.

Yet, my fatal flaw had been my desperate, lingering hope for a real family. I had kept my true strength hidden, allowing the Parkers to use me as they pleased. That compliance had paved the way to a gruesome end-my drained corpse tossed into the freezing waters behind the estate like used potion refuse.

"Her core is trembling! You filthy Mudblood parasite, did you channel your tainted mana into her tea?" Agnes jerked me forward. "Answer me!"

I pulled my arm back with a sharp, calculated snap.

Agnes lost her grip, stumbling back a step with wide eyes.

From the high-backed armchair near the hearth, Richard Parker, my adoptive father, lowered his newspaper. His thin mouth was set in a hard line of disgust.

"That is enough, Agnes," Richard said, his voice flat. "Lock Eloise in the cellar. Strip her of her casting permit until the Auror exams next month. We cannot afford another incident before Isla presents her potion portfolio to the Academy board."

They demanded no explanation, jumping straight to my punishment. To the Parkers, I was a living battery, an expendable mana stabilizer kept around to ensure their precious pureblood darling suffered no consequences for her own weak magical veins.

"Father... Mother... please..." Isla's voice came out in a breathy sob. She reached out one trembling hand, her eyelashes wet with tears. "Don't punish sister. It was my fault... my core is just too weak... she only wanted to help..."

"You see how sweet she is?" Agnes spat, kneeling beside Isla and cradling her head. "Even when you nearly kill her, she defends you!"

I stepped forward, my boots clicking sharply against the marble.

"Stay away from her!" Agnes hissed, raising an arm like a hen guarding a chick.

Ignoring her, I walked right past Agnes's outstretched arm, crouched beside Isla, and reached for her face.

Isla's breath caught. For a fraction of a second, her frail mask slipped, replaced by sheer panic. She flinched backward, pressing hard against the floorboards.

My fingers bypassed her skin entirely, shifting smoothly toward the overturned glass vial tucked beneath the fringe of the rug. A drop of deep violet liquid still clung to the brass rim.

The Parkers thought I was ignorant, but the Order's archives had taught me to identify complex brews by scent and viscosity alone.

"Tears of the Withered," I said, my voice cutting through the heavy air. "A low-grade decoction used in stage illusions. It perfectly mimics the sensory tremors of a ruptured magical core."

Isla froze.

"Its only flaw," I continued, looking down into her widening eyes, "is that it leaves faint violet stains on the palms where mana channels intersect, persisting for exactly three hours. Show me your hands, Isla."

Silence slammed down onto the room.

Isla's hands jerked backward, tucking instantly beneath the pleats of her silk skirt. Her color vanished entirely, replaced by an ugly, mottled gray.

Richard stood up, the paper crumbling in his tight grip. "Eloise, what nonsense are you spewing? Apologize to your sister this instant!"

I stood up and brushed a speck of dust from my threadbare academy tunic.

"No."

Agnes gasped. "What did you say?"

"I said no." I looked at Richard, then at Agnes, and finally at Isla cowering on the rug. "And I will be skipping the cellar. Today, I am dissolving the adoption pact."

Richard let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Dissolve the pact? Without the Parker name, you are a nobody. You lack a single bronze Knut. You will starve in the gutters of Star-lantern Alley before sunrise!"

"Then let me starve."

I turned my back on them and walked toward the fireplace. Above the mantle hung the Parker family tapestry-an enchanted piece of spun silver thread recording every bloodline bond and ward-pact tied to the house. My name sat at the very bottom, connected by a thin, glowing gray line of wardship.

I raised my right thumb to my mouth, bit down hard until the skin broke, and pressed the crimson drop directly over my name.

"In the name of raw blood and broken bread," I whispered, the ancient Celtic words rolling off my tongue, "I sever the chain."

A hiss of steam erupted from the fabric. The silver threads around my name turned blinding red, then charred black, snapping one by one. The magical resonance shuddered through the walls, rattling the porcelain cups on the sideboard.

"Stop her!" Agnes screamed, scrambling to her feet. "She's destroying the ward foundation! You ungrateful wretch! We clothed you! We kept you alive for ten years!"

I paused at the doorway, my coat draped over one arm.

"You only farmed me, Agnes," I said, my pulse settling into a steady, dangerous rhythm.

I pulled open the heavy oak door and stepped out onto the damp gravel driveway. Behind me, the door slammed shut under the force of Richard's enraged magic, but the latch held.

I stood under the gray London drizzle, the cold rain washing over my face.