The Runesmith

“A letter from Father?” 

Arthur asked with a hint of confusion on his face. He was in his study with two others. One was his trusted maid and bodyguard, Mary. The other was his most capable ally, Roland, known to most as High Commander Wayland.

“Yes, Lord Arthur. It arrived as soon as we returned from Aldbourne.”

Mary replied as she handed him the letter bearing the Valerian seal.

“Do you want me to step out?” Roland asked. He had sensed that the matter might be personal.

“No. Stay. It is probably related to the culling. But this seal.”

Arthur said as he examined it more closely. Something about it felt wrong. It was not just the familiar stag that represented his house. A forest surrounded the emblem along with four shields, suggesting something more. This was not a letter meant only for him. Others had received it as well. It was a summons to the Grand Assembly.

Arthur turned the letter over in his hand. The wax seal caught the morning light, almost as if daring him to break it. Mary and Roland waited in silence, sensing the weight of the moment. After a short pause, Arthur pressed his thumb to the seal and broke it.

His eyes scanned the contents quickly at first, then slowed as the message sank in. When he finally lowered the parchment, his expression was unreadable. His face had turned to stone.

“They are calling the Assembly within a fortnight. Attendance is mandatory for all nobles who hold ruling rights.”

“Even you? Is this about the culling, or something else entirely?” 

Roland asked, suspicion clear in his voice.

“We still have the courts reviewing the succession claims in Aldbourne. Could this be something Theodore is behind?”

Arthur paused for a moment as he took in Roland’s words and then replied.

“That possibility is zero. The only person who can summon the Grand Assembly is my father. Yet something about this feels wrong. Normally, it takes a full month to complete the monster headcount. Roaming beasts must be counted too. After that, the winners are announced and a grand ball is held.”

He fell quiet, unsure of the letter’s true purpose. It felt too sudden. Something had changed. Perhaps it was the state of Isgard that had forced his father’s hand.

“Perhaps they just want to assess the damage across the realm and assign duties directly?” 

“Or they want us to give them funds for the rebuilding efforts.” 

Roland added, his tone grim.

“A public show of unity, followed by a quiet shakedown.”

It was a simple idea, but Arthur was not convinced. Would they truly summon so many nobles only to demand money? His father, the Duke, could issue a decree and face no opposition. There had to be more to this summons. If he had received a letter, then his brothers would have too. That meant he would soon be in the same room as many who had despised him for years.

“Two weeks.” 

Arthur murmured. 

“Can I do it in two weeks?”

Roland caught on to what the young noble was referring to and responded quickly.

“Well, it’s possible. You have been preparing for a while now. If that is the case, you might be able to manage it on the second or third attempt.”

“Second or third…” 

Arthur repeated quietly. He was not sure where Roland’s confidence came from. He had expected to have more than a month for the next step in his plan, which was to reach Tier Three. There had been a strong chance he would be invited to the ball that followed the culling, and he had hoped to display the personal strength he had gained.

With Roland’s help, he had trained relentlessly. He had leveled many of his skills and pushed himself to the peak of Tier Two. The progress he had made in such a short time was nothing short of remarkable. He had believed that, once others saw his growth, they would finally begin to take him seriously.

That had been the plan. But now, with only two weeks left, he faced a challenge that even the most talented usually needed a full month or more to overcome.

“A lord’s work is never that simple…”

Arthur mumbled to himself, though he was not alone in his efforts. Roland was not there just to read the letter. He had come for another purpose entirely: to help Arthur retain memories from within the Ascension Space. From what Arthur had heard, Roland had made real progress in that field and had already helped Durendal and Curtana advance through some of the more difficult classes. The class Arthur was pursuing was especially challenging to attain, so he needed all the help he could get.

“It is not impossible, so why don’t we just begin? Every second counts.”

 Roland said.

“I suppose you are right, my friend. In a way, the Grand Assembly works in our favor. My brother Theodore will be unable to move his forces.” 

Arthur replied. There were strict rules regarding the Assembly. Once it was announced, all ongoing battles and disputes among the nobility had to cease immediately. That meant Theodore could not make a move to retake Aldbourne, even if he wanted to. Although the trial would be postponed, the delay would give them precious time to reinforce the city with additional golems and troops. 

It would give them enough time to establish a proper defense and prevent even a larger force from breaching the city. At present, Sir Durendal, Lady Curtana, and Sir Wischard had remained behind to defend Aldbourne. The knights equipped with runic prosthetics had proven to be their most powerful assets. However, despite their strength, the prosthetics required frequent maintenance—something only Roland fully understood.

Even so, Arthur had other matters to focus on. Reaching Tier Three would finally allow him to step beyond the role of a helpless bystander. It was the only way he could stand on equal ground with the others and defend what was his.

“Well then, I put myself in your capable hands.”

After disposing of the letter, Arthur turned to Roland, who was meant to assist him in retaining memories from the Ascension Trial he was about to undertake. Roland gave a curt nod and gestured toward the exit with a gloved hand.

“I have already made the arrangements, but we will need to move to my own workshop. The underground level of the mansion is not suited for this kind of procedure just yet.”

“Procedure?” 

Arthur repeated, raising an eyebrow at the choice of words. He chose not to question it further. Roland had never given him a reason to doubt his loyalty. The mage-engineer had proven himself trustworthy more than once.

The workshop was located beneath Roland’s estate, and they reached it by traveling through one of the secret tunnels that ran under the city. Over the past year, they had worked hard to construct a network of escape routes. One of them began beneath Arthur’s mansion and ended directly beneath Roland’s home.

Roland led Arthur through the winding, surprisingly well-lit tunnel, their footsteps echoing softly off the stone walls. On the ground, Arthur noticed something that looked like tracks, though they didn’t yet stretch the entire length of the passage. Roland had mentioned plans for an underground railway, and this was just a prototype. For now, it served only to help them move more quickly during their escape. But in the future, when the city grew more crowded, such a system could become essential. The roads above were already choked with carriages, bulky tamed beasts, and a constant flow of pedestrians.

Once they arrived, a door stood waiting for them. Arthur still found himself marveling at the magic used in this place. Sections of the tunnel behind them were sealed off by doors that had dropped down, designed to block any pursuers. Along the walls, he noticed runes etched into the stone. According to Roland, these runes would detonate if a retreat ever became necessary. This escape route wasn’t just clever, it was crafted by someone who should be working for royalty. 

‘He really doesn’t belong in a city this small…’

As Arthur stepped into Roland’s workshop, a knot of unease tightened in his chest. His friend was brilliant, perhaps even dangerously so. He was not yet thirty, and he had already achieved things that would leave seasoned masters speechless. If he wished, he could easily earn a place in a respected laboratory in the capital. It was certain that the high nobles would take notice, and perhaps even the royal family would seek his skills.

Rune craftsmen were extremely rare, and human ones at his level were almost unheard of. That fact alone made Roland stand out. For reasons Arthur still could not fully understand, this remarkable individual had chosen to work with him.

‘I have to rise to this. I cannot afford to fail. I can not remain a burden anymore.’

Although he felt the urge to congratulate himself for winning his first true large-scale battle, Arthur knew the truth. He would never have succeeded without Roland’s inventions. His current strength, his rapid rise in rank, none of it would have been possible on his own. Without Roland’s help, he would likely still be trapped in Albrook, living in obscurity as a nameless bastard no one respected.

“We’re here. Take a seat and try to relax.”

Eventually, he was led to a room. It was a simple, white space with no decoration except for a single chair positioned at the center, surrounded by a half-circle of softly glowing consoles. Runes pulsed gently along the walls and floor, casting faint blue ripples that shimmered across the sterile surface. The room was quiet, almost unnaturally so. The only sound came from the low hum of mana coursing through the runic conduits and wires that spread through the chamber.

Arthur stepped inside slowly, his eyes fixed on the chair. It appeared ordinary at first glance, made of polished steel and dark leather, but the air around it buzzed with magic. It sat directly in the center of several runic circles etched into both the floor and ceiling. Thick cables stretched from the consoles to the chair, and attached to it was a helmet-like device. The helmet looked simple, more like a metallic bowl, though it was covered in detailed runes.

“You designed all this just for the memory retention procedure?” 

Arthur asked as he lowered himself into the chair. He tried to sound calm, but a slight tremor in his voice gave him away.

“Yes and no.”

 Roland replied. 

“It started with that, but I’m also using it to analyze the ascension ritual itself. A lot of people think it’s a blessing from the gods and we are taken into their realm, but I’m not convinced yet…”

Arthur blinked. 

“Oh… probably best not to tell the church about that.”

“I know. They’d most likely try to brand me a heretic, perhaps even you for using such technology.”

“Hah, well, better not say anything then.”

Roland gave a small nod and activated the chair. It shifted beneath Arthur, slowly reclining until he was forced to lie back. The movement was smooth, but something about it made him uneasy. It reminded him of the old torture devices he had seen in the underground dungeons. Thankfully, there were no cuffs or restraints on it. 

“Just relax and enter your ascension space. Once you’re back, focus on the trial. Try to recall the important parts, like what you need to accomplish, any potential shortcuts, or hidden loopholes. There’s always a simpler way to get through those trials. It’s better to find it early rather than too late.”

“Good… then let us begin. Mary.”

Mary nodded and stepped forward, placing the ascension crystal into Arthur’s hand. The metallic bowl rested on his head now, and Roland moved away toward the console. Arthur glanced at him one last time, then closed his eyes and gripped the crystal.

As the magic surged through him, the room faded. He felt the familiar pull, a gentle shift that drew him away from the present. When the sensation settled, he found himself standing in a place he knew well: the courtyard of his old mansion, the home he had shared with his mother for so many years.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue across the garden path. The air smelled of lilacs and freshly cut grass. Before Arthur stood the pale marble steps of a villa, nestled atop a gentle hill, half-shaded by towering moonwillow trees. Its architecture was a fusion of elven grace and human practicality: arched windows, ivy-covered balconies, and carved magical characters faintly glowing across the outer wall. He felt the breeze brush his cheek, as if it carried a voice from the past. The illusion was perfect. Too perfect.

“Just one person is still missing…”

Arthur placed his hand against one of the trees in the center of the courtyard. There, faint scratches marked in the bark represented records of his height over the years. His mother had brought him here every birthday to measure how much he had grown. It was a quiet tradition, one that had meant everything to him.

But this place wasn’t real. It was only a reflection, a projection of safety shaped by his mind. This was the space of the ascension trial, a familiar illusion drawn from memory. No other beings were present. The mansion, the trees, the quiet breeze—they were all echoes of something long gone.

“I only realized it was all an illusion after my tenth birthday…”

He began to walk, his thoughts drifting back to those early years. There was no sign of danger here. No looming mountains, no volcanic ash, just clear skies and the gentle sound of birds. The courtyard had been a kind of cage, elegant and warm, but a cage nonetheless. A place meant to shield his mother and him from the outside world and, more specifically, to keep others from seeing his half-Elven heritage. 

He remembered the glowing runes that maintained the illusion, hidden in the walls and woven into everything. It wasn’t until he received his first class at ten that he began to understand the truth. What had seemed like a sanctuary was a prison, and his mother had been its quiet prisoner.

Arthur’s steps slowed as he reached the villa’s entrance, a door carved from deepwood and inlaid with silver characters. His hand hovered above the doorknob, hesitant. Beyond that door was where his future waited. He found it a bit ironic, to seek future progress while seeing a representation of his past. Just like before, he needed to go to his old bedchamber and choose 

With a slow breath, he turned the knob and stepped inside. If he made all the correct steps, then the class that he wished to achieve would be waiting for him, if not then he would probably need to settle for something lesser as time for him was running out. If he couldn’t present himself to his father as someone extraordinary now, he would probably not be taken seriously as a proper candidate.

*****

“Signs look normal… he should be back in a few seconds, so get ready.”

“I’m always ready.”

Mary replied, standing calmly beside Roland with a pillow in her hand. Roland kept his eyes fixed on the display screen. He had built this setup after carefully studying the ascension trials of Robert, Lucille, and many others. With each trial, he gathered more data, gradually working to uncover the deeper truths behind the process.

His understanding of souls had started with his encounter with the witch. That strange meeting had introduced him to the idea that the soul could temporarily leave the body. Through further research, he confirmed that during the ascension trial, the soul vanished briefly before returning with the information it had gathered. Although he couldn’t interfere with the process itself, he had shifted his focus to what happened afterward.

When the soul returned, the experience was stored in the brain, though the memories were fragile and faded quickly. Certain spells could extend the retention period, and with the help of his latest setup, he planned to have Sebastian assist in preserving the excess data. The time window was short, but even a few seconds of clarity could yield valuable insights into the trial.

And now the moment had arrived. A subtle shift in the readings confirmed it. Arthur’s soul had returned. He quickly activated the procedure, and right before his eyes a series of pictures started appearing. The visuals were sometimes blurry or out of focus, but others clear. He had done it, his creation was working, and with this perhaps succeeding in two weeks wouldn’t be a pipe dream anymore… 

I’ll be away for a week, taking a break. See you all later. 

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