King of the North: My Lord's Diary Weekly Summary

The moment Wayne uttered those words, the air in the council chamber froze.

"Blood Tribe... Holy Servant..."

Deputy Chieftain Kamo repeated in a low voice, his expression becoming extremely solemn.

Potter and Cindy exchanged an uneasy glance, and even the usually composed Chief Ugo frowned deeply.

Only the shaman Greta, with her deep-set eyes, possessed a knowing understanding that she had anticipated this all along.

She slowly stood up, and the bone necklace in her hand stopped swaying.

"There's no need to worry too much."

The old shaman's voice was not loud, but it carried an unquestionable authority: "I will handle this matter."

She looked at Wayne and nodded slightly: "My lord, please come with me."

Chief Ugo hesitated for a moment, but finally nodded: "Greta, it's up to you."

Greta didn't say anything more, but simply turned and walked towards the back of the house, leaning on a wooden cane wrapped with colorful ribbons.

Wayne gestured to Ronald and Wright, and although the two looked worried, they remained in the hall.

In addition, Potter looked at Wayne, seemingly wanting to say something as well, but was gently pulled back by Cindy—the shaman's domain is not one that anyone can enter.

……

The shaman's hut was located at the deepest part of the camp, next to a grove of trees.

The house was much smaller than the council chamber, but it was built with exceptional care—the logs were carefully sanded, the joints were filled with special clay, and the roof was covered with thick animal hides and dried moss.

On the door frame hung various dried herbs, bone ornaments, and brightly colored strips of cloth, which swayed gently in the breeze.

As you push open the door, a complex fragrance wafts towards you—a blend of dozens of herbs, resins, and incense.

The aroma was strong but not pungent; instead, it had a strangely calming effect.

The room was simply furnished: a wooden bed covered with thick animal hides, a shelf full of bottles and jars, a low table, and several futons.

More bundles of herbs hung on the wall, along with several animal hides painted with intricate patterns—not maps, but more like some kind of ritual illustration or star chart.

"Please sit down."

Greta pointed to the cushion next to the low table, then walked to the shelf and took some things out of several earthenware jars.

Wayne sat down as instructed, his gaze sweeping across the room. Everything here exuded an ancient and mysterious aura, completely different from the rugged and practical style of other parts of the tribe.

Greta came over carrying two wooden bowls—one containing some herbs, and the other empty.

She sat down opposite Wayne, placed the materials on the table, then looked up and stared directly at Wayne with her eyes that seemed to see through everything.

"My lord, are you asking me how to remove this mark?"

"Yes."

Wayne readily admitted, "Since you can see its existence, I hope you can remove it—or at least tell me about its side effects and how to get rid of it, so I can have a direction."

Greta did not answer immediately.

She took a handful of dried purple grass leaves from the wooden bowl containing the items, placed them in another empty wooden bowl, and then found a stone pestle nearby to slowly grind them.

The grass leaves gradually turned into fine powder, emitting a cool, bitter taste.

"We are aware of the Blood Child Clan's mark of hatred."

As she ground the powder, she slowly began to speak: "Its harm may not be as great as you imagine—this is a label about 'concentration'."

In other words, the more bloodline power you are tainted with, the deeper the imprint and the greater the impact.

She stopped what she was doing and looked at Wayne: "As far as I can see, the bloodstains on you... are very faint."

It was not at all like the concentration one would expect from a holy servant.

The current impact is that the Bloodborne can vaguely sense your presence within a few miles.

If the opponent is a powerful figure like a chieftain or priest, the perception range might be larger and more precise, but it wouldn't exceed ten miles.

Wayne felt slightly relieved, but immediately pressed on, "What about actual damage? Like control or curses?"

"It depends on the opponent's strength and the distance."

Greta added other herbs and continued grinding: "For an ordinary tribal sorcerer, they would need to be within three hundred feet to exert a slight effect on you—such as making you feel palpitations or dizziness."

If the distance is greater, or the opponent is not strong enough, this mark is just a 'location marker'.

As she spoke, she poured out some clear, viscous, resinous liquid from a small leather bag she carried with her and mixed it with the herbal powder.

"As for elimination..."

Greta shook her head: "I can't do it."

The Blood Child Mark is directly attached to 'life', and to completely eradicate it, a purification power stronger than the caster's or a specific ritual is required.

However, the shamanic power of our wolf clan is different in nature from the power of the Blood Child. I can only help you 'conceal' it—so that ordinary Blood Child members cannot sense this mark unless they are very close to you.

However, if you come into contact with blood energy again, the concealment effect will disappear.

Wayne pondered for a moment, then nodded.

It sounds like this is a hassle, but the impact is limited for now.

More importantly, Greta was willing to help cover it up—which had already met his initial expectations.

"Well then, thank you."

Wayne said sincerely.

"It's what I should do."

Greta placed the mixed ointment aside and took out a small cloth bag from her bosom, unfolding it.

Inside are two slender wooden needles—made from some kind of dark wood, with a smooth surface and extremely fine tips.

"Then please lie down on the bed, sir."

She pointed to the wooden bed covered with thick animal hides.

Wayne got up as instructed and sat down on the bedside.

The animal hide was thick, and underneath was dry, soft hay; it was more comfortable to lie on than I had expected.

The complex herbal scent in the air was even stronger, making people unconsciously relax.

Greta came over with wooden needles and ointment and sat cross-legged by the bed.

Instead of immediately performing the spell, she took out a small dried leaf from another leather bag and chewed it.

Wayne noticed that her eyes began to glow with a very faint light—not the kind that reflects sunlight, but a soft and mysterious halo emanating from the depths of her pupils.

"The Shaman Lady".

Wayne suddenly spoke, asking the question he had been curious about for a long time: "Is your 'qi' the same as the 'qi' used by my knights?"

Greta paused in her chewing motion, then slowly shook her head.

No.

Her voice was slightly muffled because of the herbs in her mouth: "Although you can understand both of these powers as energy that ordinary people do not possess, the aura of you knights is actually more like... a way of exerting force and breathing."

She swallowed the herbs in her mouth and pricked her fingertip with a wooden needle—not randomly, but precisely in a specific spot.

A drop of dark red blood seeped out, but immediately, a faint, pale blue halo began to emanate from around the drop.

Wayne could see clearly that it wasn't reflected light, but rather light shining through her skin.