THE RUNESMITH

In a dimly lit training chamber, a lone man stood. Around him stretched a shadowed space, encircled by multiple doors, each leading to a different path that would shape his destiny. Above each door hung a unique symbol – often depicting a weapon, a piece of armor, or sometimes a shield. The doors themselves varied as well some were made of wood, others of hardened steel, and a few gleamed with polished gold.

‘The right path is usually obvious, but this time…’

Robert had circled the training chamber, inspecting the doors that led to new classes. Ascension spaces were said to take the shape of places deeply ingrained in a person’s soul, and for him, it was this very underground training hall where he had spent years of his youth. The first time he was here, only a single door had stood before him.

His initial ascension ritual had offered no trials – he had simply been granted the Warrior class. It was a basic path, common and unremarkable, yet it had shaped the course of his life. Not long after, he had chosen to advance as a Knight, stepping through the door that led to the path of a Squire. That time, he had faced a grueling trial – battling a series of monsters while clad in progressively heavier armor. Even so, he had prevailed on his first attempt.

Soon after, he continued his training at the Knight Academy. He took his time, honing his skills to their peak, but his focus remained on mastering the blade. To ascend as a Sword Knight, he was given a new trial – this time, he had to defeat multiple armored knights in a jousting tournament.

These trials felt real, almost indistinguishable from reality, and even featured actual people – some bearing striking resemblances to those he had encountered in his life. For some reason, his final opponent in the tournament had looked eerily similar to one of the young men who had tormented him during his time at the academy. Even now, he could still vividly recall the satisfaction of beating him bloody.

At that point, he had reached a new milestone, becoming a Tier 2 class holder – an achievement he took great pride in. Around this time, he reunited with his brother, and after their encounter, he promised to catch up.

Determined, he set out toward the border, battling the kingdom’s enemies while also being utilized by the army to cull some of the monster tribes in the north. Eventually, he attained his next class – one far rarer than the others: the Noble Blade, a specialization focused on mastering the sword while donning heavy armor.

During his ascension trial, he was once again forced to face numerous enemies, all while wielding a sword of lower quality than his multiple opponents. The class focused more on reinforcing his strikes and honing in on his opponent’s weak points rather than relying on brute force. This was also the first time he had failed an ascension trial, requiring two attempts to overcome it. Something that he was ashamed of as his elder brothers didn’t seem to have failed even once until their tier 3 ascension attempts.

Upon reaching level one hundred, his progress slowed to a snail’s pace. Yet, his unwavering determination to prove himself to his father and make his mother proud kept him going. He threw himself into battle time and time again, fighting fiercely and carving through countless foes in the name of the Arden family. But no matter how hard he pushed himself, he felt like he was chasing a ghost. The more he struggled, the more it seemed as if he was falling behind.

All the strength he had gained paled in comparison to his father and many of the other powerful knights he encountered. The absence of any aura skills was undeniable, and deep down, he knew the truth – he would never be able to catch up to those who had been more blessed.

Robert exhaled deeply, his gaze sweeping over the array of doors before him. Some looked familiar – doors of steel and gold, with weapons and armor set beside them, signifying the paths of warriors and knights. Others were more refined, representing noble combatants, swordmasters, and defensive guardians. Each door was a path, a possible future, a decision that could shape his fate.

But then there were the strange doors – the ones that defied expectation. Unlike the others, these doors shimmered faintly with an ethereal glow. Ancient runic symbols were etched into their surfaces, pulsating with arcane power. Weapons and armor beside these doors were adorned with intricate engravings, imbued with magic beyond the scope of simple craftsmanship. They looked like something his younger brother would craft.

‘Could this be because of that title?’

Recently, he had obtained the “Rune Vassal” title along with the “Rune Mastery” skill. At the time, he hadn’t thought much of it, as it merely allowed him to use runic equipment more efficiently. However, now – faced with multiple rune-inscribed doors he had to conclude that this ability was the key. Just like before, some doors appeared superior to others. Some were made of ordinary steel, while others gleamed with polished mithril and enhanced weaponry.

Robert approached the shimmering runic doors, his fingers tracing the glowing symbols. Unlike the others, these doors pulsed with latent energy, as if aware of his presence. The weapons beside them were different from what he was used to – they weren’t simple swords or shields but intricate constructs infused with runic magic. One bore a longsword lined with glowing blue veins, its edge humming softly, while another displayed a suit of armor with strange magic crystals.

‘Now this is a problem… I didn’t expect to have this many choices…’

After circling the area a few times, he identified several potential paths forward. The first was a massive mithril door, behind which lay a sword and an armor set suited for something akin to a “Sword Champion” class. This was more or less what he had expected to receive – at least, until he considered the other options.

One of the other doors held a similar setup, but the armor and sword were covered in intricate runes, suggesting a class like “Rune Champion.” Given that he was now working under his brother – a powerful runesmith so this might have been the better choice.

He lacked aura skills, meaning the prestigious aura-based classes were beyond his reach. However, he had seen firsthand what his brother could achieve with runic armor. What if he could do the same? This was likely his only chance to catch up to those monsters – a new path forward.

“What about this one…? Why does it lack any weapons or armor?”

Robert had nearly decided on the door leading to the potential “Rune Champion” class when he suddenly hesitated before a different path. Like the others, this door was crafted from gleaming mithril, but the runic glow emanating from it was even stronger. However, unlike the others, it displayed no weapons or armor, leaving him uncertain about what lay beyond.

Normally, he would equip his gear before entering a trial, making this anomaly all the more confusing. It was the only door of its kind in the chamber, yet the sheer intensity of its magical energy far surpassed that of the “Rune Champion” door. That alone made him pause.

“Should I just try it? If it’s bad, I’ll just fail the trial and try again…”

Roland had advised him to take his time and not rush the decision. If he failed, he would be barred from retaking the test for a while but the first attempt was always the safest way to test the waters. His mind drifted briefly to Lucille. She would have probably torn the whole place apart trying to figure out the door’s secrets by now. 

“Maybe… maybe I should just do it.”

The soft crackle of runic energy pulsed louder as he grasped the door’s handle, twisting it. The door creaked open with an eerie but welcoming sound. With a deep breath, Robert stepped inside. A corridor stretched ahead of him – endless, it seemed. The air was thick with ancient power, and the stone walls were lined with more runes than he could count. The moment his foot crossed the threshold, the door behind him slammed shut, leaving him no choice but to move forward.

As he walked deeper into the corridor, he felt a strange pull. Not a danger, but a beckoning. A subtle force that tugged at him, leading him down the endless path. Time seemed to stretch and warp here. The stone underfoot remained the same, and yet the passage felt different, as though the very space around him was alive, breathing, watching him.

Eventually, he reached the end of the corridor, where a grand set of doors awaited – twin obsidian gates inscribed with runes he didn’t recognize. At that moment, he wished he had listened to Lucille when she had tried to teach him the basics of runes. While people like him couldn’t directly read them, their shapes and colors usually hinted at their purpose. After taking a deep breath and steeling himself for whatever lay ahead, he pushed the heavy doors open.

A bright light greeted him as he stepped forward, and in the next instant, he found himself in a new location. The ground beneath him felt like stone, reminiscent of a castle, as did the towering walls around him. A long, crimson carpet stretched out before him, leading toward another set of closed doors. The scene reminded him of the throne rooms depicted in paintings or the grand chambers reserved for powerful nobles – at least of ducal rank.

‘I don’t see any runic symbols anymore…’

Robert glanced around, trying to make sense of his situation. He soon realized that his clothing had changed. Instead of his previous attire, he now wore what resembled the under-armor of a knight – a blue gambeson, linen leggings, and thick leather boots. He seemed woefully under-equipped for battle, but before he could dwell on the thought, the sound of footsteps echoed from one of the side entrances. From the doorway emerged a man who bore an uncanny resemblance to the Arden estate’s head butler.

“Sir Robert, you have arrived. My lord has been awaiting your arrival. Please, follow me.”

Robert nodded and allowed the butler to guide him forward. While the situation might seem strange, it was consistent with the other ascension trials. In these illusory spaces, the people he encountered often took on the appearances of those he knew in real life. He had seen his brothers in the previous trial, so the presence of the Arden estate’s butler here wasn’t particularly surprising.

After what felt like several minutes of walking, they arrived at a massive set of ornate double doors. The butler stepped forward, pushing them open with surprising ease for their weight. As the doors parted, Robert was greeted by a sight that made his eyes widen.

A grand throne room stretched before him, its scale beyond anything he had ever seen. The ceiling rose high,  illuminated by chandeliers lined with floating crystals. A deep crimson carpet led to an elevated platform, upon which sat a throne forged from blackened steel, adorned with glowing runic etchings that pulsed with an otherworldly light. On that throne sat a man clad in a suit of runic armor, its design eerily similar to the one worn by Roland, his younger brother.

The figure’s presence was overwhelming. The runes on his armor shimmered and shifted as if alive, responding to his very breath. The helm, though obscuring his face, exuded an aura of authority. When he finally spoke, his voice caused his body to tremble as if he was speaking to some type of superior being.

“You have come at last. My champion.”

The voice was deep, powerful, and resonated throughout the hall. Robert stiffened at the words, his mind struggling to catch up. However, the armored man’s eyes continued to glow and he resumed. 

“The tournament is soon to begin, and you have been chosen. Prove your worth, and you shall take your rightful place at my table. Fail, and you shall be forgotten.”

Robert swallowed, his instincts telling him that this trial was unlike anything he had faced before. The previous trials had tested his skills in battle, his endurance, his tactics. But this… this felt different. It carried an air of something grander, something more meaningful. 

“You shall be given the tools necessary for your battles. The right weapon and armor to face your first opponent. Head to the fitting chambers, speak with the runesmith, and prepare thyself.”

The butler beside Robert gave a polite nod. 

“Come, Sir Robert. The runesmith awaits.”

Robert followed the butler through the grand corridors of the castle, his mind racing with thoughts of the trial ahead. The weight of the mysterious figure’s words still lingered in his mind: “Prove your worth… or be forgotten.” It felt as though the armored figure was telling him that this was the only way to progress in his life – or fail in his attempt to catch up to his brothers.

The castle’s architecture was breathtaking – walls lined with intricate carvings, archways stretching high above, and banners bearing unfamiliar symbols fluttering from the ceilings. Everything exuded an air of regality, but at the same time, there was something almost surreal about it.

For a moment, Robert stopped to gaze out through one of the windows. From there, he had a clear view of the castle grounds and a nearby jousting arena. It was likely the place where he would soon face his opponent – one of many. He had no idea how many challengers awaited him, but he needed to determine whether this class was the right fit. Perhaps only after meeting the runesmith and engaging in battle would he understand how this class could benefit him and if it was compatible with his fighting style.

Beyond the arena, a vast landscape stretched in all directions – an expanse of trees and fields of golden wheat. Yet, there were no farmers tending the crops, no soldiers patrolling the area. As always, this illusory space provided only the bare minimum required for the test.

After turning away and resuming his walk, they arrived at another set of double doors, albeit much simpler than the ones leading to the throne room. The butler stepped forward, pushing them open to reveal a massive forge room. The air inside was thick with the scent of burning coal and molten metal, and the rhythmic clang of hammer against steel echoed throughout the chamber.

Robert stepped inside, his gaze immediately falling upon the lone figure working at the anvil. The man was of sturdy build, his muscular arms moving with practiced precision as he shaped a glowing ingot with his hammer. Sweat glistened on his brow, and his leather apron bore countless scorch marks from years of toil. But what caught Robert off guard was the striking resemblance this man bore to Bernir, Roland’s trusted assistant.

“Ah, so you must be the one,”

The runesmith spoke without looking up, his voice deep and steady.

“About time. The tournament waits for no man.”

Robert stepped closer, his eyes flicking to the many weapons and armor pieces neatly arranged around the forge. Each piece radiated magic, the unmistakable mark of rune-forged craftsmanship. Even as a warrior who had spent most of his life relying on physical strength and refined swordplay, he could not deny the allure of these enchanted tools.

“Now, what do you wish to use?”

“What do I wish to use?”

“Aye. I can’t craft the proper weapon and armor if you don’t tell me what runic enchantments you favor, now can I?”

“…”

The blacksmith turned to face him, his gaze intense. This was something new for Robert. He had never had the luxury of choosing his own equipment, always making do with whatever enchantments he could get his hands on. Even when Roland entered the picture, he had provided weapons for him – ones Robert used until they broke down before he reached his second-tier class. Now, this blacksmith who looked so much like Bernir – was asking him to decide. To tell him exactly what enchantments he preferred. Robert hesitated for a moment before finally asking a question.

“What sort of enchantments can you make, Runesmith?”

“Hah! I can make all of them! Now, quickly – tell me what you need before the first bout begins. We don’t have all day!”

“Well, this isn’t good…”

Robert rubbed his head in contemplation. Before him lay swords of all shapes and sizes, armor – light, medium, heavy of varying designs. But the choice was his, and for once, he was expected to dictate the terms. A troublesome predicament indeed.

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