The last faint ripple of wind faded from the air, leaving the lamp flame trembling and a swirl of dust dancing lazily across the room. Ludger stood still for a long moment, his hand half-raised, watching the lingering glow where the letters had dissolved.
Then the blue shimmer returned, faint at first, then solid and unmistakable.
Class Unlocked: Runic Mage Master: Linne
New Skill Acquired: Wordweave Lv.01
Wordweave (Lv.01): Allows the user to inscribe or project written words imbued with mana to create corresponding magical effects. The potency and nature of each manifestation depend on the clarity of intent and stability of the written form and the level of the skill making writing more complex runes with more ease.
Bonus per Level: +5 INT, +5 WIS, +5 DEX
Ludger blinked once, the notification hanging there for several seconds before fading.
He frowned, lowering his hand slowly. “…That was easier than it should’ve been.”
He looked at the air again, nothing remained of the glowing word, but he could still feel its echo. The faint trace of energy that had briefly bent the world to his will.
A spell. No, something between a spell and a command.
He stepped closer to the desk and brushed a few scattered papers back into place. His eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating. So writing words with mana creates the same result as casting… but with structure instead of flow.
It wasn’t raw instinct like a normal spell, it was reason given form. A way of forcing the world to listen, to obey language.
He flexed his fingers again, testing the sensation of mana still humming faintly beneath his skin. “It’s basically a spell,” he muttered. “Only shaped through words.”
He thought of Linne’s compiler, of her fireball typed into existence with precision and rhythm. He’d done the same with nothing but his hands, no tool, no crystal, just the understanding that mana recognized meaning.
The difference, he realized, was subtle but profound. Spells asked the world to respond. Runes told it to.
He exhaled through his nose, half amused, half impressed. “So that’s what this really is,” he said quietly. “Magic words that force reality to behave.”
He looked down at his ink-stained fingertips and smirked faintly. “Casting’s faster,” he admitted to himself, “but this… this gives me options.”
The System’s faint hum still echoed in his head, the new class settling into place like another piece of machinery clicking into his growing arsenal.
Runic Mage.
Versatile. Controlled. Dangerous. He turned his palm upward again, letting mana flicker just above his skin. The possibilities spread before him like an open page.
And for the first time, he understood what Linne meant when she said that runes were language. He wasn’t learning to cast new spells. He was learning to write commands to the world.
He rubbed his eyes with one hand and leaned back, exhaustion finally catching up to him. The papers scattered across the desk were a mess of half-formed runes, English letters, and short notes written in his compact, efficient handwriting: intent = stability, flow = rhythm.
It was progress, the kind of discovery that made his mind hum even while his body begged for rest.
He stood, joints protesting faintly, and walked the short distance to his bed. The sheets were cold, the air still carrying the faint metallic taste of mana discharge. He didn’t bother to change, just dropped onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling.
For a few seconds, he thought he could finally drift off. But as he blinked, he noticed something strange through the window. The horizon was turning pale.
A faint wash of silver light crept through the curtains, painting soft lines across the floor. The distant hum of Coria’s morning engines began to rise, joined by the first whistles of the city’s forges coming online.
Ludger exhaled, one corner of his mouth twitching upward in tired resignation. “…Not again.”
He turned his head toward the faint glow outside. The sun hadn’t even cleared the towers yet, but the sky was already brightening, a new day beginning while he hadn’t even closed his eyes.
He stared at the light for a moment, then gave a quiet, humorless chuckle. “Skipped another night,” he muttered, voice rough. “Guess curiosity really doesn’t pay in sleep.”
He closed his eyes anyway, hoping to catch at least a few minutes before someone inevitably came knocking. But even as he drifted, the faint afterimage of glowing runes danced behind his eyelids, symbols and words, fusing and reforming in endless combinations. Sleep never came easy for a mind that refused to stop building.
When breakfast time rolled around, the inn’s common room was already half-full, the low murmur of travelers mixing with the clatter of plates and the smell of baked bread and spiced broth.
Ludger arrived last, coat buttoned, scarf straight, every movement deliberate, but the faint shadows under his eyes betrayed him.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Maurien was already seated at their usual table, arms folded, nursing a cup of black tea with the kind of expression that could curdle milk. Across from him, Kharnek and Kaela looked like ghosts of their former selves.
Kharnek’s hair was a disaster, his eyes bloodshot, and he stared at his bowl of porridge like it had personally wronged him. Kaela wasn’t much better, her hair was tied into the roughest bun imaginable, and she sipped water with the same reverence a priest gave holy relics.
When Ludger sat down, Maurien took one look at him and frowned. “You look worse than they do,” he said flatly. “And they look like a hangover healer caught fire.”
Kharnek grunted something unintelligible and leaned his forehead against the table.
Ludger took a sip of his tea before answering. “I only slept two hours,” he said simply. “I was experimenting with some of the things I learned yesterday.”
Maurien blinked once, then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Of course you were.”
Kaela squinted at him through half-lidded eyes. “You… studied?” she asked weakly, as if the word physically hurt.
“Yes,” Ludger said. “You two drank.”
Kharnek let out a groan that might’ve been a laugh. “Aye, and we won,” he muttered.
Maurien set his cup down and gave Ludger a long, assessing look. “All right, prodigy,” he said. “Show me.”
Ludger raised an eyebrow. “Show you what?”
“What you learned,” Maurien said. “You’ve got that look, the one that says you figured out something dangerous and you’re too humble to admit it.”
Ludger’s expression didn’t change, but his silence gave him away.
Maurien smirked faintly. “So I’m right.”
“I don’t plan to make a scene,” Ludger said, picking up a slice of bread. “Not here. Too many eyes.”
Kaela snorted weakly. “Translation: he doesn’t want everyone realizing he learns faster than the professors.”
Ludger gave her a sideways glance. “Something like that.”
Maurien leaned back, satisfied. “Fair enough,” he said. “Just don’t collapse next time trying to outlearn the League in one night.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ludger said, taking another sip of tea.
Kharnek groaned again. “Less talking, more food. My soul hurts.”
Ludger smirked faintly and went back to his breakfast. Between the half-dead drinkers across from him and Maurien’s dry judgment, the morning felt surprisingly normal, at least for their version of normal.
Still, as he ate, his mind was elsewhere, running through symbols, words, and the faint hum of mana that still lingered in his fingertips.
Before long, the morning calm was interrupted by the sound of brisk footsteps and the faint jingle of enchanted tools. Linne and Dalan appeared at the entrance of the tavern, both looking far too energized for people who’d probably been working since dawn.
“Vice Guildmaster!” Dalan greeted cheerfully, striding toward their table with the confidence of a man who thought everyone should share his morning enthusiasm. “We were just talking about you.”
Linne followed close behind, a neatly bound stack of scrolls under one arm and a faint smile tugging at her lips. “We were hoping to catch you before you left the tavern.”
Kharnek groaned under his breath. “Oh no. They’re multiplying.”
Kaela shot him a warning glance, though she still looked like she was half a cup of coffee away from consciousness.
Linne ignored them both and turned to Ludger. “We were discussing a few possible lessons you might find… enlightening,” she said. “Tomorrow, the alchemy faculty will be running a cross-discipline experiment on elemental stabilizers, and the day after that, there’s a workshop on multi-core rune synchronization. It’s rare even for visiting engineers to be allowed in,”
Dalan jumped in eagerly. “And after that, a full demonstration on autonomous constructs! You really shouldn’t miss it, Vice Guildmaster. Once you see how we synchronize command circuits through dual cores,”
Ludger raised a hand calmly, stopping the flood of enthusiasm.
“I appreciate the offer,” he said, voice even, “but I’ll be departing today.”
The smile froze on both their faces.
“What?” Dalan asked, as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “Today?”
“Yes,” Ludger said. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer the shipment of mana cores and froststeel to be delayed. I imagine the League won’t be pleased if its first trade delivery arrives late.”
That got through. Dalan’s mouth opened, then shut again. Linne, to her credit, recovered faster. “You’re efficient to a fault, Vice Guildmaster.”
“Comes with the title,” Ludger replied dryly, setting down his cup. “Besides, I fear for my life if I don’t return soon, I have a very protective mother waiting for me at home.”
Maurien glanced up from his seat, adding, “I’ll stay behind for a while. The Vice Guildmaster has other duties to handle. I’ll make sure our friends here uphold their end of the deal, investigating the slave routes running between the Empire and the League.”
That seemed to sober both engineers instantly. Linne’s composure hardened, and Dalan’s cheerful expression dimmed.
“Of course,” Linne said quietly. “We haven’t forgotten that.”
“We’ll do our part,” Dalan added, his tone losing its usual levity. “You have my word on that.”
Maurien nodded, sipping from his cup like it was the most casual conversation in the world. “Good. I’ll stay a week or two, see what turns up. Then I’ll head back to the empire.”
Linne turned to Ludger again, her voice softer now. “If you ever return to Coria, the academy will welcome you again. You’re… sharper than most of our professors, I suspect.”
Ludger gave a faint, polite nod. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is,” Dalan said with a grin that almost made it back to full strength. “And for the record, you’d make a terrifying instructor.”
“Noted,” Ludger said flatly.
Kharnek groaned, finally lifting his head from his plate. “Good. Maybe we can leave before they enroll him as professor as well.”
That earned a quiet chuckle from Kaela, still pale but visibly recovering.
Ludger stood, fastening his coat. “Then it’s settled. I’ll see to the shipment. Maurien stays.”
He looked at Linne and Dalan one last time. “Do your part. We’ll do ours.”
They both nodded, solemn now, no academic enthusiasm left in their expressions.
As Ludger turned toward the door, the morning light caught his scarf, the green fabric shifting faintly as he adjusted it. The air outside was still cold, the mist curling around the city’s spires.Another job, another crossing. And for once, he was leaving a city with more questions than he’d arrived with.
Before long, the goodbyes were over, and the morning fog of Coria swallowed the sound of hooves and wheels as Ludger, Kaela, and Kharnek boarded their wagon and began the long journey west.
Behind them, on the edge of the academy’s road, Maurien stood with Dalan and Linne, watching in silence as the wagon rolled down the winding path that led out of the League’s heartland. The mist thinned just enough for a last glimpse of the Lionsguard’s crest on the side of the cart before it vanished behind the ridges.
“Efficient man,” Dalan said quietly. “Doesn’t waste a moment.”
Linne folded her arms. “He’s not the type who can afford to.”
Maurien’s eyes stayed on the road a moment longer, unreadable. “No,” he murmured. “He isn’t.”
Then he turned away, coat shifting in the wind. “Come on. We’ve got work to do.”
