The Runic Alchemist

The holy war became a relentless carnage that spanned centuries. The entire interior of the stone shrine was filled with stories of the war—the people they had lost, the betrayals, the bravery, the lost ideals, and the countless fallen civilizations.

The chosen warrior of the Sun God had at last prevailed over all of them. Millions of corpses littered the ground when it finally ended. There was a whole poem-like inscription in their language, depicting the warrior's internal conflict after committing such a gruesome act. Just when he was sick and tired of it all, the Sun God came to him again—not to acknowledge the millions who had died, but to order him to force the prisoners to accept the faith. And if they refused.. kill them all.

It was the last straw that broke the camel's back. The warrior had grown up now; the years-long war had left friends and enemies on all sides. The prisoners were just children of the battlefield friends he once had. For the first time in his life, the warrior stopped being a blind believer and became a true monarch.

He said No.

The warrior chose mercy, accepting all men and women, no matter what faith they followed. All were welcome in his empire. Needless to say, the Sun God was not impressed. After gaining millions of followers, his power had increased, so he did what he was known best for—another continuous stretch of unbearable scorching heat. The rain never came, and the fields grew drier and drier.

The conjured ice provided some relief, but it never lasted long. The emperor—the strongest in the world—created mountains of ice every few weeks to help his people, emptying all his mana. He begged the Sun God to stop, trying every method to change his mind, but the only reply was the same: make the faithless believe, or kill them and rid the world of any faith other than his.

Even in the seventh year, when the drought remained relentless, the warrior stopped begging. He picked up his sword, bid farewell to all his family and friends, and once again set out on a journey—just as he had all those years ago when he left his village. But this time, the purpose was different.

He was not going to spread the name of the Sun God. He was going to kill him.

Damian saw hundreds upon hundreds of stories carved into the stone—the warrior's journey, the friends he made, the strength he lacked and gained. Even though he was the strongest person on the entire planet, he was nowhere close to a god. The Sun God sent blessed enemies to eliminate him, yet the warrior defeated them all, one by one overcoming all adversaries.

All in all, the entire stone shrine felt more like a monument to the warrior than a place of worship for the Sun God.

The last mural before Damian and his group reached the top of the massive stone staircases—leading to the same snow-covered platform with the golden bell—depicted the pigman warrior standing against the massive pigman Sun God.

The conclusion was not written. Nor were there any depictions of the battle itself.

Perhaps the common pigman people never learned what had happened after that. Only the final levels of the dungeon on Highsword Island would hold the answer.

Pushing the stone entrance open, Damian and the others climbed the last steps and stood atop the shrine. The pigmen were deep in discussion throughout the entire tour, reacting to the different depictions of their history. The murals weren't just stories—they contained valuable life lessons, agricultural knowledge, woodworking techniques, blacksmithing methods, and, as Damian suspected, even spells and enchantments hidden within the indecipherable text.

"What are they talking about?" Sariel asked Grace.

Grace listened for a while, then answered hesitantly, "I'm not sure, but a few of them are considering moving their entire village to live inside or near the stone structure."

"They'll have to solve the issues of ventilation and lighting if they're serious about that," Damian replied.

Grace nodded and translated his words into her broken pigman language. The pigmen listened carefully, nodding to both Damian and Grace in acknowledgment.

Worldscribe took the opportunity to speak up. "I've been meaning to ask for a while, kid, but.. is that small square box what I think it is?"

Damian let her and the others see the sacrium mana cube, then replied, "The technology is a trade secret—if you don't mind."

That single sentence answered all the unasked questions—Can you make one for us? Can we trade for it? Can we reverse-engineer it? Damian might share the technology with some of his friends, but the Highswords would have to stand far back in that line. Even if they were the good ones.

"Wait.. didn't you have a mana contract with Worldscribe to make one of these for her?" Silverspell asked, remembering the past.

"It was a lie.." Runefather replied, patting the comfused old man's shoulder.

"And what is that thing?" Lifewarden asked, pointing at the humanoid faceless sacrium golem dressed in simple clothes, who was still studying the murals inside the shrine.

It was Prince. Damian had a mana thread connected to him, supplying enough mana for the golem to control his sacrium body. Unlike most of them, Prince cared more about these scholarly matters—perhaps even more than Damian himself.

"It's a golem," Damian replied simply.

Everyone squinted at him, but no one pressed further. Ignoring the fact that there was a freaking metal golem - the knowledge of making which had been lost - Golems did not move around on their own. But they knew he only revealed things when he felt like it.

Jacob was also with them, effortlessly climbing the massive stairs. As an experiment, Damian had inscribed three simple runic spells onto his chubby sacrium body.

The first was Object Weight Control, which applied to Jacob's entire form.

The second was Gravity Reversal—unsurprisingly, the Ember of Genica had an ID, classifying Jacob as an active lifeform. The spell affected his entire sacrium body, allowing him to manipulate his own gravitational pull.

The last was a complex combination of various wind spells inscribed across his body, giving him the ability to fly at will after reducing his weight. None of these spells were particularly taxing. Damian could probably apply ten more of such spells before the sacrium body reached its limit. But he didn't want to overload Jacob, so he gave him enough time to master just the flight and movement-enhancing spells first. There was also a small container Damian had built on his back that held Damian's liquid mana, the ember could use it as his own to power the spells.

Good thing Jacob and Toph had become best buddies, keeping each other busy. They were already engaged in a game of chase—Toph warping around while Jacob flew after him.

Everything Damian had wanted to do here was done. Now, it was time for tough choices.

He already knew what he was going to choose. But he wouldn't force the others to follow him.

So he looked at each of their faces, his expression serious, and announced,

"Gather all our people. It's time to make a decision."