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08 – Danger(?) Approaches
🕑 Added 2024-05-21 06:35:28 +0000 UTCChapter 08
- 1 -
Ethan took the book from Roland’s hand.
“My lord, this is what I’ve managed to get. Though, a man named Derrick was also interested in meeting you, so you can likely get more detailed books later.”
“Sure, thank you.”
Bowing, Roland left Ethan’s room. Ethan sifted through the book he’d secured about magic. It was written in a tongue that he somehow understood through [Myriad Tongue]. The magic in this world was rather simple. It’s a damn RPG-lite... At age twelve, people would awaken their system—a ceremony called System Day was held every year. Everyone of age twelve would be in this ceremony. If you got bound by the system you’d be able to gain a Class, if nothing happened, you’d be branded with a marker indicating you lacked magic—somewhat looked down upon, especially among nobles.
Theodore had essentially failed to awaken, thus the interest in him from his father had practically vanished, and due to this, the old man had slowly pushed him out of the family. And now, Theodore ruled Holden—a Barony in name only. It was only because Ethan transmigrated that the system awakened and he could choose a class.
Ethan read through the long and boring description inside the book, and by the end of reading it, he understood more about how things functioned around here.
Most importantly, he knew now that [Basic Rune Creation] could get him in trouble if used irresponsibly. It wasn’t possible to “create” runes...
Runes formed when magic in a certain area exceeded a threshold of sorts. If enough mana was circulated in one area for a long period, it could eventually form runes; however, runes were rare and elusive. To “create” a rune, the area needed had to be capable of holding enough mana. Thus, mostly, runes were formed inside the Great Dungeon. Great Dungeon—a dungeon sprawled beneath the earth. There were countless “entrances”. Regardless, you couldn’t simply “create” a rune yourself. Countless experiments had been carried out to understand runes and how to manipulate them, but none of it had ever amounted to anything.
So, all in all, Ethan would be playing with fire. If his skill was to be revealed... he’d undoubtedly be used as a lab rat, or worse, used as a rune generator.
Hmm... It’s dangerous... but, if I could create tiny—very tiny—runes, or more like, rune motes, it wouldn’t be a problem. Rune Motes were the middle ground between mana and fully made runes. And, there were a shit ton of them in the world. No one would suspect a thing. All he needed was for the Rune Motes to suck mana from their surroundings to survive. If he could get that working, Ethan’s mind would be flooded with possibilities.
What can’t runes do? Ethan grinned. Mana-compatible runes could manipulate and change the world itself...
“Okay, it’s decided then,” Ethan mumbled.
He slammed the book shut. Ethan rose, tensing his jaw, and sat cross-legged on his bed. He closed his eyes, focusing on the meager mana swirling inside him as a Level 01 [Mage]. Activating his skill, a mental image formed—a wisp of pure energy. A very small wisp. A mote. One that could be turned into a full rune if combined. But he would create them in such a way that they couldn’t be combined—every set would be lacking a crucial piece.
[Basic Rune Creation] – Lvl 1 -> Lvl 2!
The image flickered, unstable. Sweat beaded on Ethan’s brow. He pushed harder, picturing the mote condensing, solidifying. Why’s it harder to create rune motes compared to runes?
A spark erupted in his mind, sharp and unexpected. His vision swam momentarily as the nascent rune mote flickered into existence before dissipating with a faint pop.
He gritted his teeth. That was close. Ethan refused to give up. He experimented, adjusting his focus, visualizing the mote drawing in the sparse mana like a tiny, hungry vortex.
[Basic Rune Creation] – Lvl 2 -> Lvl 3!
Another attempt. This time, the mote flickered for a heartbeat longer before dissolving. Tiny beads of success. One more time—this time, the vortex pulsed into existence, a dozen motes swirling within, each flickering with a faint, hungry glow. Success! A laugh escaped his lips as he spent the next few hours diligently creating more motes.
[Basic Rune Creation] – Lvl 3 -> Lvl 4!
The night went on. Ethan was exhausted but exhilarated, but felt a surge of satisfaction when he looked around at the increasing number of rune motes.
His level got stuck there, b as he spent the next two days refining the process, he learned to create multiple motes at once. That elicited another level up.
[Basic Rune Creation] – Lvl 4 -> Lvl 5!
- 2 -
A satisfied grin stretched across Jack’s face. He tapped a finger against the hefty tome, its pages now filled not just with Blight patterns but with intricate diagrams—the base spell was complete, and it would do everything they wanted it to do. Lord Theodore had given him an excellent solution after reading through the convoluted idea he’d planned. Due to Lord Theodore’s contribution, the solution had solidified into a plan, a beautiful monstrosity of a plan, but a plan nonetheless. Excitement bubbled in his chest as he stared at Lord Theodore—he had bags under his eye; no doubt he’d been working tirelessly on this issue!
“Are you sure, my lord?” Jack asked, barely containing himself. “Using rune motes would be expensive. I’m sure you’ve had to spend a hefty sum to get these...” Jack gestured at the bag full of rune motes. They shimmered faintly in his gaze, barely noticeable, but the effect was truly beautiful when hundreds or more were gathered.
“Do not worry about the prices.” Lord Theodore said. “Also, this matter must remain between us at all costs. Now,” Theodore waved his finger. “Go, get it done. Before that, however, I need an [Oath].”
Jack’s smile froze, eyes turning serious. “An [Oath]?”
“You must realize the impact your earlier plan would’ve had—your ideas cannot be allowed to fall into the wrong hands, or this situation could become even more dire.”
“Ideas?”
“Your convoluted plan to imbue mana into soap...” Lord Theodore gave him a dry stare.
Jack coughed, and gave a stiff nod. He hadn’t realized, in his excitement, the impact of what he’d made. The impact it could have on the world. After Lord Theodore’s explanation, however, it hadn’t been hard to connect the dots.
“Lastly, I want you to take an [Oath] of exclusivity. I’m planning on employing you permanently.” Theodore smiled, clasping his hands on his lap. “How does that sound?”
Jack froze.
Lord Theodore grinned slyly. “Let us negotiate, eh?”
...
He’d done it.
He’d completed it!
Granted, his initial ideas had been a tad too ambitious and convoluted, the answer was rather simple... mana gathering rune motes. Each soap needed to have a mana-gathering rune inside it. Even if low-grade, it would suffice. He’d had to swear an [Oath], the contents of which made him grimace at times, believing he’d somehow been ripped off. But he was over the moon, as his future had been solidified.
Before he could begin production, Lord Theodore wanted some samples, and he’d just done that!
Now, as Jack stared at the soap, a sense of dread swelled inside him. Would the idea pan out? What if the motes would suddenly eat too much mana and cause some issues?
Jack knelt beside the soap bar, and poked it with a finger. After some tests, he relaxed and exhaled a sigh of relief. “Success,” he whispered, smiling, then grinning. His project had succeeded—
—but there were hundreds of soaps he needed to imbue yet, and not to mention he still had the whole nexus to build. He gulped as the daunting task loomed ahead.
- 3 -
The morning chill clung to Gilbert’s worn cloak as he tightened the cinch. Beside him, Edgar adjusted the pack slung across his broad back, the weight of the ledgers settling a groan from his lips. Holden. The very name brought a grimace to Gilbert’s weathered face.
“Still can’t believe Theodore inherited the Barony,” Edgar grumbled, his voice rough with morning grog. “A wastrel like him, fit only for chasing skirts and gambling away his inheritance.”
Gilbert grunted in agreement. “Lord Baelgard wouldn’t have stood for such nonsense. Used to say a full treasury is mightier than any castle wall.” Lord Baelgard, the previous Baron of Holden, was a legend in their corner of the kingdom. A stern but just man, he’d kept his coffers overflowing and his people secure. Theodore, however, was rumored to be the opposite—a spendthrift with a penchant for lavish parties and losing bets.
“Just wait till we reach Holden and see the state of his coffers. Empty as a troll’s skull, I tell you.”
They had left the bustling Capital weeks ago, tasked with collecting the annual taxes from the far-flung reaches of the kingdom. They’d sifted through cities and towns and now would soon be reaching Holden, one of the bordertowns—they still had more towns to go through after all. Their last visit, three years prior, had been a near-riot. Theodore, having spent the kingdom’s allotment on lavish galas and exotic beasts (a snow leopard, Gilbert remembered, the creature looking as miserable as a fish out of water in the Holden kennels), had refused to pay a single copper. It had taken the arrival of a contingent of royal guards, led by the stern Lord Commander himself, to shake loose a pittance—a fraction of what Holden truly owed. They’d taken the exotic beasts and more, and Theodore had begged, saying he’d pay back in full next time around.
Let’s see if you can. Gilbert chuckled. “Bet he’s already holed himself up in that drafty castle of his,” Gilbert said, “pretending he’s ill or some such nonsense. I pity the peasants, to be honest.” he muttered, kicking at a pebble as they made way to their horses.
The peasants of Holden were some of the most stoic he had encountered in his years as a tax collector. Yet, even their hardy spirit could be broken. The last time, their faces had been gaunt, eyes dull with resignation.
“Aye,” Edgar agreed, his voice gruff but laced with a surprising amount of something he could only assume to be sympathy. “But you know the king’s orders—all the taxes, every last copper.” His voice was cold—a rumbling sound that seemed to rattle the stones beneath their feet; it might just have; the man was a strong [Mage] from the Red Tower of Magic.
Gilbert knew. This wasn’t just about collecting money—it was about asserting the king’s authority in every corner of the realm.
...
On their journey, as they huddled around a sputtering fire, a raven landed on a nearby branch. Its Obsidian eyes glinted in the firelight. Edgar shooed it away.
“Not a good omen,” he muttered, tossing another log onto the fire.
Gilbert scoffed. “Superstition, Edgar. It’s just a bird.”
Their journey took an unexpected turn a few days later. A swollen river, churned brown by recent rains, barred their path. The rickety bridge that usually spanned the gap was missing, swept away by the angry current. They were forced to take a detour, adding precious days to their already long journey. Food supplies dwindled, forcing them to rely on foraging and the meager generosity of passing traders.
Thus, they decided to remain longer in a town called Siez to resupply.
Then, they would need to sift through five more cities before they could head for the Bordertowns.
Regardless, Gilbert looked forward to their meeting with Theodore.
