The Runic Alchemist

There were many other knights and lords, ranging from second-ranker transcend seed level to average second-rankers and even first-rankers. The bald knight, Warren, was nowhere to be seen. However, Damian could sense him somewhere beneath them. In the basement, then? There was a dungeon below, too.

There had been a dungeon in Fayengin city as well, but the previous day had been too hectic to check it out.

"Your Highness, we sent a messenger ahead of us. May we know where my knight is?" Lord Silas asked, bowing before his king.

All the other lords imitated the greeting—except for Damian, Sam, Evrin, and Einar. The others noticed them remaining still. Reize, Lumi, and Elias, standing nearby, felt awkward under the weight of the stares—though the glares weren't directed at them. Instead, they were aimed at Damian and his group, the ones who had refused to bow.

Damian had brought three mana containers, while Sam and Einar each carried two extra. If things went south, Dawnstar would be missing a heavy number of nobles by the end of the day.

Before anyone could speak on the matter, Maelor stepped forward.

"Father, I'm sure you've already heard the messenger from Lord Silas. Our arrival here proves the thing he said. Half the city saw the waygate open outside. What is your decision?" He went straight to the point.

"Marcus.. Souldealer.. and even Ashborne.." the king muttered, completely ignoring his son. "What nonsense is this? Even with half of Dawnstar's forces, you all couldn't hold off that brat for even half a year?" he bellowed.

"The Empire is too advanced, Your Highness. A force of ten thousand—they decimated them with their runic weapons as if they were just a group of a hundred. They didn't even use a single soldier of their own… or any third-ranker," Lord Silas added.

The Baron said, "Moondancer is with him. His forces are split into three, and each unit has a minimum of two third-rankers, Your Highness. There was simply no way to stop him. We need you. Our people are enslaved by the Emperor and forced to work tirelessly, day and night."

Lord Ashborne interjected, "If it weren't for this 'Morph Vialist' here.. half the lords present, including Marcus, Silas, and myself—charging headfirst against the Empire without knowing anything—would already be dead or enslaved, Your Highness."

"Half the border cities are lost…" Even Prince Leon spoke up, though he still looked as if he might fall asleep at any moment. "I saw them burn pretty good…"

A tense silence filled the hall as all eyes turned toward the third prince. The harshest glare came from a young man in his late thirties, clad in slightly less ornate golden armor than the king's—the heir to the Dawnstar throne and the eldest son of the Goldflame House. The disdain in his eyes for his younger sibling was clear as day.

"Enough!" the king bellowed. "Excuses! What can that brat even create with scraps for resources that our Dawnstar forces can't face?"

"Why don't you come with us and see for yourself?" Maelor shot back, his eyes burning with rebellion.

"Boy!" A deep, commanding voice cut through the air.

The speaker was a towering, white-bearded man. "He is still your king. Show some respect."

Maelor turned to him and lowered his head.

The man was none other than the father of the current king and the grandfather of Maelor, Leon, and their siblings. Damian had, of course, heard about him—a powerful third-ranker from the old generation. But there was no life in his cold blue eyes. The man was blind.

Unlike other kingdoms, Dawnstar's royal family had a relatively short history. The current king had defeated the previous ruler in the 'Monarch's Trial' and claimed the throne. It had been mostly Maelor's father's own doing—but not entirely.

The name 'MightyOne' was infamous in history as a great warrior.
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Being the only noble house with two third-rankers, they had easily gained the trust of many lords and schemed their way into overthrowing the previous king. But it wasn't the old man who had fought for the throne—it was his son, the current king. Some claimed the old man had lost his eyes during the Warring Era, but Damian doubted he needed sight to rule. Not with a mana pool and aura that allowed him to dominate the battlefield.

There was another theory—many believed it was the sword the king had acquired from some dungeon that made his strength unquestionable, even among other third-rankers.

Damian had only heard rumors, never confirming if they were true. What kind of dungeon relic could boost a person's strength by over twenty percent? He had always thought it was an exaggeration… but laying his eyes on the sword in the king's hand now, he had to admit—it was a true work of art.

The entire blade was covered in runes—so intricate, so tightly woven, that even Damian had difficulty deciphering what they did.

The old giant continued, "And who are these rude guests you have brought along without asking—who don't even know basic etiquette?"

The gazes of all the lords turned toward Damian, Sam, and Evrin. Murmurs spread through the hall.

"An elf princess?"

"What is she doing here?"

"Isn't this an amazing chance?"

"Was the knight from yesterday really telling the truth?"

"I saw the massive flying ship he was talking about…"

Damian stepped forward after sighing. This was just as bad as he had imagined.

"I am the one you people call 'The Morph Vialist'!" he declared. "I saved your lords from the Empire's shackles using a waygate spell, and I used the same spell to bring them directly here—so they could explain to you firsthand the horrors your civilians and soldiers are suffering right now. But it seems none of you care much about that…"

The aura of many in the room began to shift, growing agitated. But Damian pressed on.

"I'm offering you the chance to return—all of you, unharmed—in a single day, back to Dawnstar. The Spellmaster will not raise her weapon if you choose to leave and fulfill what is, technically, your duty first and foremost."

His eyes burned with conviction.

"I've already demonstrated my spell. The choice is now yours."