The Runesmith

The horizon burned gold and crimson as the first rays of the sun spilled across the rooftops of the battered palace. Roland sat by the window with his elbows resting on the arms of the chair. He watched the light creep into their room and slowly brighten it. Arthur sat beside him, slouched in his own chair, his face still stained with cultist blood. Neither of them had slept while they waited.

“Looks almost peaceful.” 

Arthur murmured as he watched soldiers running outside.

“You would never guess what happened here.”

Roland adjusted his helmet and kept his eyes on the display. Small dots moved across the palace grounds while one large patch of static lingered in a particular location. The presence of a tier four class holder still interfered with his sensors.

“I am sure Mary will be furious with me. I hope she is doing fine.” 

Arthur said again, his voice trailing away.

Roland leaned out the window as he answered. 

“I am sure she is safe. Gareth and Morien are with her as well. It is only a matter of time before they call us for an explanation. Once that is over, I am sure we will be free to return to Albrook.”

“Mhm. I hope so.”

The two men remained in place, waiting to be released. Two guards stood outside the chamber, though the watch was not especially strict. No one believed they would be foolish enough to attempt an escape when soldiers filled the grounds. Even if they slipped past the sentries, the Duke and the Grand Knight Commander would end their flight with ease.

Roland had gathered a wealth of data from the confrontation, material that would serve him well in the future. For now, though, the only thought in his mind was surviving this ordeal and returning to Albrook. The Duke struck him as a strange man, either careless enough to risk his sons’ lives or so confident in his own power that he believed they could never be harmed. His strength was undoubtedly formidable, yet even he had been unable to break through the massive shield that protected the palace.

Their stay here had been short, yet he already felt he had seen enough of this place to last a lifetime. Roland only wished to retreat into his workshop and vanish from the gaze of others, but he knew that such a thing was no longer possible. In this battle, he had revealed far too much and displayed abilities that no ordinary tier three class holder of his level should have possessed. He was almost certain that his true name would soon be uncovered, if it had not already been.

‘Is this it? What will the Duke do with me?’

That question weighed on him more than any other. Would the Duke compel him to return to the central kingdom and confront his father, or would he consider him a royalist spy? Roland’s choices had been far from logical for a man of noble blood, and the most natural conclusion was espionage. If he were judged guilty of such treachery, the consequences would be severe.

As he wrestled with these thoughts, a knock interrupted his brooding. A knight in polished yet dust-streaked armor stepped inside. He pushed the doors apart and performed a casual bow. 

“Lord Arthur, Sir Wayland. His Grace summons you both to the great hall. The rest of the young lords are already assembled. Please follow me.”

Both Roland and Arthur looked at each other and stood up from their chairs. The knight’s boots rang against the stone floor as he led them through the corridors. The palace smelled faintly of smoke and charred wood, mingling with a hint of iron from blood that had not yet been scrubbed clean. Servants moved quietly, avoiding eye contact, and the guards they passed kept their visors low. It was as though the entire household held its breath as they awaited the Duke’s judgment.

Arthur straightened his back as they walked, though the weight of exhaustion clung to him. He cast a glance at Roland, who carried himself with calm composure. Although Roland wished to keep his helmet on, he removed it, since wearing it in the presence of the Duke was discouraged and its functions offered no real advantage here.

His mask was gone as well, leaving him exposed with his face revealed to all. For the moment, no one seemed to recognize him as a member of the Arden estate. His father was still only a Baron and usually kept himself hidden beneath heavy armor that covered his entire body, so perhaps Roland’s identity would remain safe.

They entered the great hall that had previously been hidden from them. The large doors and walls still bore claw marks, but some workers were already restoring them to their former state. Once inside, the first thing Roland noticed was the throne on the opposite end. Upon it, Duke Alexander Valerian sat with a flawless posture, his presence commanding the room.

To his right stood the Grand Knight Commander, the man they had seen the day before, who had never drawn his sword in battle. To his left was someone new, an older man who appeared to be his chief aide. He whispered into the Duke’s ear while holding a stack of papers, perhaps sharing information about Arthur and Roland, who were just arriving.

The rest of the hall was spacious. The banners of House Valerian hung along the sides since this part of the castle had been untouched by the nightly attack. The five sons of Alexander Valerian stood before the throne, each with guards at their sides. Arthur and Roland were led to the end of the line. The atmosphere was tense, filled with restrained whispers from nobles who had been summoned to witness the inquiry.

Some nobles stood along the sides while others, who seemed to hold a higher rank, occupied booths on the second floor. A clear difference in treatment was evident, and Roland quickly noticed it. Those standing below appeared to be the same nobles who had been present during the initial gathering, while those seated above were entirely different. It seemed they had known about the Duke’s plan and had been kept safely away from the area under attack.

‘Was that how he planned it? He pretended to lower his guard and let the cultists into his home… Quite ruthless…’

The longer Roland remained in this hall, the lower his opinion of the Duke became. The man appeared shrewd and indifferent even toward his closest kin. Perhaps there were other illegitimate children like Arthur scattered elsewhere, which would explain why the Duke did not truly fear for the survival of his five legitimate heirs. Someone would always remain to carry on the line. It seemed that as long as he believed his core of power was unshaken, he was willing to risk the lives of others.

This thought made Roland recall his tier three ascension trial. At that time, he too had needed to become ruthless, form alliances, and at times sacrifice some of his forces in order to gain an advantage. That was one of the main reasons he had avoided involving himself with nobility, since the ruthlessness they displayed was deeply unsettling. Yet now he found himself in the middle of it all with no way to escape, and with the Duke standing before him to decide his fate.

Alexander Valerian’s gaze swept across his sons, lingering on each with a weight that made even Julius bow his head. His armor was held by the Grand Knight commander and looked pristine as always. Roland could tell that the enchantments placed on it were not simple and were above the tier three grade. When the Duke finally spoke, his voice was level and calm, yet carried a domineering power.

“You did well in surviving the cult’s onslaught. For that, you have my praise… however.”

The Duke’s words rolled through the great hall, and no one dared to breathe.

“Survival alone is not merit. I will hear of what transpired, and lies will not be tolerated. Do you understand?”

He addressed everyone, and with their heads lowered his sons responded.

“Yes, your Grace.”

“Good.”

“Ivan, stand!”

“Y-yes, your Grace.”

His eyes settled first on Ivan, who stood up, his body trembling despite trying to hold his head up. Guards held him firmly by the arms. Alexander’s stare cut into him like a blade, and it was clear that his fate would be different.

“You, Ivan. You consorted with the witch. You opened the gates of my house to those wretched beings.”

Ivan stammered, his voice breaking.

“Y-your Grace, I was deceived. She had taken the form of my wife. I did not know, please forgive…”

“Silence.”

The Duke’s tone struck like a whip, and Ivan could not continue speaking. Everyone felt it as well, some force that crushed their voices and prevented them from speaking, a power that most likely belonged to the Duke.

“You consorted with a witch. You jeopardized the safety of your kin, your people, and this house. No deception can excuse such weakness. You will answer for this.”

Ivan’s knees buckled, but the guards at his side forced him to remain upright. Murmurs rippled among the nobles standing along the walls, yet no one dared to raise a voice. The Duke leaned back in his chair, his frown deepening.

“You are my blood, but blood does not grant you immunity from punishment. The Valerian name is like adamantium, and adamantium does not break.”

Ivan’s fate was sealed with those words, and the Duke continued.

“From this day forth, your title will be stripped, and your lands will be divided among your brothers and the other nobles.”

Ivan’s head snapped up, his face pale as parchment. He could not accept what he heard, and even the guards struggled to restrain the strength of a third-tier warrior.

“Your Grace… F-father, please! You cannot…”

The Duke raised a single finger, and Ivan’s voice died in his throat as though an invisible hand had seized it. The guards dragged him back into line. Whispers passed among the nobility in the upper booths while those standing at the sides remained silent.

“Let this be known to all present. Weakness of will cannot be tolerated. Direct bloodline or not, it shall not stain the name of House Valerian. Let his punishment serve as a reminder.”

The nobles bowed their heads, though many faces revealed satisfaction. More than a few had likely awaited Ivan’s downfall for years. Once Ivan was gone, only four brothers remained. Roland expected Julius to be called next, but the Duke’s gaze fell on him instead. A shiver ran down his spine as he sensed an attempt to read his status. His gear was made to prevent it, but he wasn’t sure if the Duke couldn’t peer through it. The feeling soon passed, and the Duke turned his eyes toward Arthur.

“Now. The matter of you.”

Arthur stiffened as his father’s gaze fixed on him. He rose immediately and bowed low. Roland, still only his knight, did not expect to be addressed. He had already spoken of the cultist attack and shared his theories, but it was Arthur who would need to carry them through this trial.

“Your participation in the current incident cannot be ignored. You stood your ground, fought beside your brothers, and survived. That is expected of one who claims the Valerian name. But…”

His words lingered in the air for a moment, but soon he got to the point.

“…your knight was the one who unraveled the mystery of the relic. Is that correct?”

Arthur’s eyes flicked toward Roland and soon turned toward his father. Finally, he met the man’s gaze, but after a moment, he lowered his head as he began to talk.

“Yes, your Grace. Sir Wayland had met with these cultists in the past and developed a way to counter their occult relics.”

“He did? Interesting. Explain.”

The Duke’s eyebrow was raised. It was clear that his people had informed him about the whole incident. There were probably some monitoring devices using magic in the palace to see what had transpired during the night. 

“Of course.”

Arthur swallowed his saliva as he tried to recall what Roland had told him to say. 

“Sir Wayland was involved in one particular incident. I am certain your Grace will remember it, the one that took place near the city of Reeka.”

No one interrupted him as Arthur recounted a shortened account of Roland’s involvement in helping the church acquire the large relic in the cultist village. The city Ivan was managing was mentioned as well, along with his work with the church to develop a method of countering the effects of the relics.

For a moment, silence filled the hall. Roland remained kneeling on the ground while his exploits were retold. It was a strange experience to hear others recount his deeds, yet the story sounded less exaggerated when the Solarian Church and the Grand Inquisitor were included.

“Fascinating…”

Arthur was visibly surprised at his father’s response. The old man seemed completely absorbed in the retelling, and even though it took several minutes, he did not interrupt once.

“So the church bas… the church knew…”

The Duke mumbled quietly and tapped the armrest a few times. His expression did not shift, yet his words were clear, and they confirmed Roland’s earlier suspicion that the Duke had no real knowledge of how to counter the relics. Regular illusory magic defenses would not work, for there was a particular method of awakening them.

“Can your knight repeat this method?”

“He can, your Grace.”

“I see…”

Alexander Valerian thought for a moment and soon came to some kind of decision. 

“Then it is only fitting that your deeds and your knight’s be rewarded. He helped with resolving this issue greatly. Speak, Arthur. What is it you desire from me?”

Arthur hesitated. His lips parted, then closed again. The hall waited in silence, and even Roland glanced at him, curious to see what he would ask for. After a long pause, Arthur finally spoke.

“…I wish to see my mother.”

A ripple of surprise passed through the chamber. Some of the nobles muttered, others frowned. Of all the rewards he might have claimed: gold, land, titles, he asked only that. Alexander’s brows drew together slightly. 

“Your mother?” 

He leaned back against his throne. 

“That is no reward. You shall have it regardless, in due time. I ask again, Arthur Valerian. What is it that you truly want?”

Arthur looked down, his hands tightening into fists. It was clear that he didn’t appreciate what the nobles thought about him. Nevertheless, he raised his head again and asked for something more probable.

“Then, Your Grace… I ask that the lands we won from brother Theodoere be rightfully granted to me. My men and I fought for them, bled for them. Let them be ours by law and title.”

This time, Theodore was taken aback. He was forced to remain silent, yet it was clear that he was enraged. During the culling, his lands had been taken from him, and the matter had never been resolved. The reward they requested was reasonable given their current standing, and it seemed that the Duke agreed.

“So be it. The lands of Theodore shall be yours.”

“Thank you, your Grace.”

Alexander Valerian looked at the old man beside him and whispered something into his ear. The man nodded, moved aside, and spoke with a few guards. Soon they returned, and the Duke explained.

“Your knight will disclose the intricacies of this relic to my men. The mages and enchanters must be taught their workings so that such an infiltration cannot happen again. The Commander will assign you an escort, and the knight will share all that he knows.”

Arthur nodded and prepared to leave, but his father continued.

“Once we are finished here, you are free to wander these halls. Someone will lead you to your mother. That is all, you may go.”

Arthur gave a quick bow and moved away. Roland glanced at the group approaching him. He could not remain to hear the Duke address the other three brothers, but not that he cared. He soon turned toward a group of mages who were waiting for him. It was clear that until he disclosed everything he knew and perhaps helped them create a working prototype, he would not be able to leave.

‘Why is it always me? I just want to go home…’

He was tired, he wanted to sleep, but more than anything, he wished to see his wife and wolf. 

‘Well, at least Arthur will get to meet his mother.’

For a moment, his thoughts drifted, but in the end, this was not such a bad outcome. Everyone he had come with was alive and well. The Duke, although stern, did not seem too angry at his presence. Now Roland needed to take what he had learned today and turn his thoughts toward reaching new heights, for unless he advanced to tier four, his freedom would never be achieved.