The Runic Alchemist

"A pup who has yet to sprout a single hair on his face is giving us a warning?" the king said in a cold, deep voice. The whole court held its breath.

The lords' reactions were a mixture of wounded pride and thoughtful contemplation. The king must have convinced them that leaving was not an option—that Vidalia would never let them go. But now, a real opportunity had presented itself—if only they seized it.

They wouldn't even lose much face, as it could be framed that their people had come seeking aid, prompting their king to abandon the conquest of another country to save his own. That was, of course, if they even wanted to leave at all.

"Not a warning!" Damian clarified. "An option—one that gives your people a fighting chance in the upcoming battle. How would history remember a king who invaded another country, only to lose his own while plundering it?"

That earned him more hateful gazes than anyone had received in that court from the beginning.

A towering, white-bearded man stirred from his seat and stood, approaching Damian. He stopped just short of crossing the ten-meter distance between them. His lifeless eyes stared, his nose twitching every so often. Was he… sniffing them?

Whatever the case, Damian summoned all the offensive runic circles between them. Attacking without provocation would be a grave dishonor, but Damian had long since abandoned faith in people's good conscience.

"I know this house… What is your real name, boy?" the MightyOne asked at last.

"Maximus," Damian lied.

"No…" the MightyOne murmured. "You are no commoner. I know this blood.. Embers of fire, an essence that burns so bright it makes me close my eyes.. But this one is different—darker. Equally bright, nonetheless…"

What the hell was this guy talking about? Weren't his eyes already closed? Maybe he'd lost his mind—humans centuries old were rarely all there.

"How could I forget? Sunblade!" the man suddenly declared, stepping away and returning to his seat near the king. As he moved, he continued speaking, "Only those fools burn so bright! There is no mistaking it…"

The moment the old man uttered the word Sunblade, the king straightened on his throne, his gaze snapping to Damian's face. Murmurs spread through the court, but while most nobles seemed only mildly intrigued, the third-rankers reacted much more strongly. One of them, the Ashenvale pugilist—the rightful ruler of this land—stared at Damian with deep contemplation.

"Your Highness," Baron Marcus spoke up again. "The boy presents an opportunity unlike any we will ever get. He can transport our entire army back to First Dawn in minutes. I know the fight here is important to our kingdom, and all of you have worked hard for it. But, my lord, the Empire isn't just raiding and retreating. They're absorbing every territory they conquer. Our people will become theirs. If we wait any longer, we'll only be feeding them manpower, freeing their warriors from menial tasks and allowing them to wield their massive weapons of destruction." Explore stories at My Virtual Library Empire

The Baron was sharp—he ignored the politics and focused on the military advantages and disadvantages. Damian could see why he was in charge of border defense, unlike the fool Duke of Northern Dawnstar.

"Are you also advising that we abandon everything we've built here, Souldealer?" the MightyOne asked instead of the king, who seemed lost in thought.

"Lord MightyOne, the threat is real. The Empire is far more dangerous than we anticipated. Something must be done. I don't know about Nightwalker, but the Empire has approached me multiple times, offering more and more with each attempt to sway me. I fear for my people."

The MightyOne stroked his white beard, nodding while deep in thought.

"The rumors about the boy facing three Transcendants and creating artificial mana—are they true?" the first prince suddenly asked, turning to Souldealer and Lord Ashborne.

Both nodded solemnly.

That instantly shattered the reverie of both the king and the MightyOne, as if they had only now recalled that particular detail.

"The boy is a bigger threat than the Empire…" the MightyOne muttered.

The king stared at Damian, clearly struggling to decide his fate.

"What do you gain from this?" the king asked. "And don't tell me it's for your family."

"Nothing major," Damian replied casually. "I'm doing a favor that costs me nothing. If you survive, there will come a time when I ask for repayment."

"What kind of repayment?" the first prince asked, his tone cautious.

Damian glanced around the massive courtroom, feeling the weight of every gaze fixed upon him. Then, casting a brief look at his friends, he replied,

"There's a region near the border of Dawnstar and Ashenvale called Rayajin. From there to the city of Bamayas—I claim that land as mine. I will build a city there. I will need resources when the time comes. I already have connections with Eldoris; now, I am simply establishing connections here."

He produced a copy of the contract he had secured from his deal with the Highswords and handed it to the nearest guard, who delivered it to the king and the MightyOne.

As the king read through it, his eyes widened with every word.

"The Highswords granted you the right to claim land?" he asked in disbelief.

The courtroom erupted into murmurs and heated debates over the pros and cons of Damian's proposal. The king passed the contract to one of his advisors, who read it aloud.

Of course, Damian had removed the Land Breaker's name, leaving only the vague statement that he had obtained this right in exchange for retrieving an important Highsword figure lost in a dungeon.

"A region of your own… But half that region is under our control right now. What of that?" the king asked.

"200,000 points worth of mana," Damian revealed. "That's the amount of mana required to open the waygate from here to any corner of this continent."

Damian continued,

"I can open over ten of them at once. And believe me when I say, that is not the only spell I know."