The Runesmith

Chapter 606: Time To Wake up.

Sounds of battle filled the grand chamber, but most eyes were drawn to a scream that was not entirely human. After a cultist’s mask split apart, his body convulsed violently. The half-formed limbs snapped back into his torso as if dragged by invisible hooks. His flesh writhed and then collapsed inward, leaving behind nothing more than a smoking husk of blackened meat. Arthur staggered back, gasping for air, his rapiers trembling in his hands. The heat of aura still burned against his palms, and his arms felt like lead.

‘I did it…’

The ground beneath him quaked. Across the chamber, Roland and the spider-witch collided once again, their strikes leaving holes in the stone floor. Sparks and acid flew as Roland’s maces hammered against her twisted exoskeleton. His weapons slammed down like falling pillars while his golemic limbs shielded him and the nobles from stray strikes.

For a brief moment, Arthur allowed himself to breathe. His gaze was fixed on his first victory after attaining the tier three class. The aura on his blades still blazed as he watched the defeated foe crumble into dust. Yet the battle was far from over. From the side, another enemy rushed toward him, this one also wearing a mask and already twisting into a strange insectoid creature.

“Ugh!”

Arthur had no time to recover and had left himself open. He raised his swords in a cross and caught the stinger aimed for his chest. At the same time, he leapt backward, letting the momentum carry him away from the brunt of the strike. The force hurled him across the chamber, and he crashed into one of the massive pillars.

His back slammed into the stone, his breath leaving him in a sharp grunt. Cracks split the marble, dust spilling down as his shoulders scraped against the surface. He tightened his grip on the rapiers, refusing to let them fall. The insectoid cultist screeched, mandibles clicking in grotesque rhythm as it lunged toward him again.

His instincts screamed at him to fight and not to be distracted by Roland’s struggle. The Duel Meister’s ability was still active, and his aura flared with renewed force. The monster charged. Arthur rolled aside, boots scraping on the polished stone as the creature’s stinger slammed into the pillar he had just left. The entire column shook, flakes of marble raining down as though an earthquake was taking place.

‘I cannot keep relying on others. I am not the same as I was before.’

Time seemed to slow as Arthur’s vision blurred from the impact. The monster was momentarily stuck, its stinger lodged in the pillar. His aura swords burned crimson once more as he struck. One pierced the creature’s chest, and the other drove into a malformed eye.

This monster was faster, stronger, and already almost fully transformed. The mask the cultist wore had fused with his flesh, and the single eye had split apart into several insect-like orbs. The man had become a grotesque mixture of scorpion and mantis.

Arthur’s strike sank deep, his aura cutting through the chitin that had merged with the cultist’s ribs. The creature let out a shriek that rattled his eardrums, then lunged forward with mantis blades that sliced just millimeters from his throat. Arthur twisted his wrist and dragged one blade sideways, severing the arm at its base before leaping back.

‘I hit the face, but the reaction is different.’

Even though the monstrosity had lost an arm and been pierced twice, it was still alive. It was now clear that once the transformation took hold, the mask was no longer a weak point. Fortunately, this monster was not invulnerable, and although the wounds in its chest were healing rapidly, the severed arm did not regenerate.

Arthur frowned at the realization and pressed on. His aura flared brighter as he lunged again. His footwork was sharp and fluid, carrying him around the monster as he pierced its body again and again while slipping past every counterstrike.

He was like a blur, a streak of crimson light weaving between slashing claws and stabbing limbs. His instincts surged within him, guiding his motions as though invisible hands pushed him into the right angles, the right strikes, the right tempo. The monster’s screeches rose in pitch as its stinger was slashed and flew to the side.

The blades traced lines of red through the air and cut into the hard carapace. Each strike left sizzling wounds that piled upon one another until the monster collapsed and Arthur stopped. Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead as he felt his aura waver. He had won again, but his breath was short and more enemies were already approaching.

Congratulations. You have leveled up.

Text appeared before him, yet he had no time to look at it. His gaze shifted instead to two more transformed cultists lunging toward him. Their robes were torn and their bodies were fully twisted by corruption. One resembled the creature he had just slain, while the other bore an elongated head tipped with a mosquito-like proboscis. Ꞧ𝔞Ꞑǒ𝖇ÈꞨ

Duel Meister’s passive skill has been deactivated.

The message from the world system echoed in his mind. His skill only functioned when facing a single opponent, and this reminder made it clear that it was no longer active. His swordsmanship felt dulled, the perfect flow of battle that he had enjoyed only moments earlier fading away.

‘I wanted to save it for later but…’

He still had not used his new ability, High Lord’s Aura, a skill that would strengthen his aura-based combat for a short time. These cultists were too strong for him to hold back. His class granted him power, yet he lacked combat experience and the knowledge to wield his skills properly. His stamina, already drained by constant aura use, had dwindled to half. It seemed he had no other choice.

‘I do not have a… huh?’

Arthur was about to trigger the skill when a massive surge of golden light flooded the chamber, drowning out the insect-like cries of the cultists. He flinched and raised an arm against the brilliance as a radiant pressure swept across the battlefield. The corrupted cultists were struck by a wave of power that burned through their unholy flesh in an instant. A heartbeat later, the source revealed itself. Lady Bernadette of the Dawn had awoken.

Her eyes blazed like twin suns, irises suffused with golden fire. The bracelet Arthur had clasped onto her wrist now shone with runic light. In her hands rested a massive two-handed sword, a weapon she had not been carrying before. It was clear that knight commanders were permitted to take their arms into the hall, yet Arthur felt no resentment. If anything, he was relieved, for this woman was likely their strongest weapon in the battle ahead.

“You dare defile this palace with your filth?”

Her voice rang out, clear and commanding, echoing through the grand hall. The insectoid cultists shrieked as her holy aura swept over them. Arthur watched in awe as the golden radiance burned straight through their bodies, slicing them apart with terrifying precision. It was not merely light but a divine force that cut as cleanly as any blade.

Lady Bernadette raised her greatsword high. The runes carved into its steel flared with brilliance that rivaled the sun. A halo of golden radiance burst from her form, expanding outward in a blazing circle. Arthur shielded his eyes for an instant before lowering his arm. The cultists no longer looked his way; every one of them now hurled themselves against her.

‘Julius seems fine too now.’

Arthur’s gaze shifted to his eldest brother standing behind the paladin. A shield bearing Solaria’s sun emblem gleamed in Julius’s left hand, while his right already held a longsword. With both Julius and Bernadette awakened, Arthur knew he could press forward and focus on rousing two more allies. His third eldest brother remained still, and beside him his wizard guardian also awaited awakening.

Without uttering a word, he moved forward with the remaining bracelets. Roland had only given him these few, and it was up to him to decide who would receive them. Most of the people here were incapable of fighting at a tier three level. Although many nobles went to great lengths to obtain powerful battle classes, very few actually advanced beyond a tier two class. They usually left the fighting to their knights, but none of them were present at the moment.

The most powerful fighters were the knight commanders who had come with his brothers, along with the guards that surrounded his father. Ivan could not be trusted, and his knight had been injured in the previous duel. That left only his brothers and their guards. He had already decided to avoid Theodore, since he simply could not trust him. It was better to keep the giant man from taking orders from Theodore, as he was certain his brother would choose retreat and prioritize his own life over everyone else’s.

Tybalt, on the other hand, was also a mage, and with the help of his wizard companion, he could be relied upon to provide supporting fire. He soon made his way toward them while radiant aura swords clashed against the enemy. The paladin lady fought fiercely, and thanks to her efforts, he was able to head over towards his brother.

To aid him in his mission, one of the golems Roland had sent out concealed his presence. He felt the weight of a concealment spell settle over him, and with his enemies distracted he managed to reach his brother. The golem then ascended into the sky as though it were keeping watch, although it was more likely serving as an additional set of eyes for his ally. Once both bracelets were clasped in place, he waited for their clarity to return before speaking about what was taking place.

“What, abyssal cultists?”

“Indeed. Keep the bracelets on. They are the only thing preventing you from falling under the illusion. Once I awaken Father, we must destroy the relics that are creating this magic. Protect the other nobles in the meantime.”

Arthur was already running while shouting to his fourth brother. Not far away, he saw Lady Bernadette cut down another twisted cultist. Her greatsword blazed with golden radiance as she swung in a wide arc, and the sheer force of her aura attack split the polished marble beneath her feet.

His brother Julius stood beside her, not fighting but simply observing. The Bestial Warden, on the other hand, was tearing through the enemy without pause. Some of the cultists climbed onto his back in an attempt to bite him, yet his massive frame only swelled with power as he hurled them off. His body seemed forged from mithril itself. With every strike, he crushed skulls and cleared the way, defending his sleeping master, Theodore.

This gave Arthur the distraction he needed to run toward his father. His father was a tier four class holder, someone far beyond the reach of these cultists. The plan appeared simple. If Arthur could awaken him, the battle would be decided. Yet as he sprinted forward, more cultists appeared behind him.

“They will not make this easy. If I keep going, they might reach Father before I can place the bracelet on him and his guards.”

Arthur realized he had to change his plan. He felt no love for his father, but he could not deny his strength. Their only real chance of survival was to awaken him, since the number of opponents seemed endless. Arthur could not understand where the cultists had found so many tier three class holders, but they kept coming without end.

“Very well. I will take care of you first.”

He stopped and turned to face the enemy closing in behind him. With only one before him, his skill activated again, and the duel began. In the distance, he glimpsed the others locked in combat. He could only hope Roland would come to his aid, for more enemies were appearing on the horizon with every moment.

*****

‘This doesn’t look good. What’s with this large-scale barrier outside?’

Roland thought to himself as he struck one of the spider-like legs. By now, he had managed to stall the witch. She could not inflict serious damage on him, yet he could do little against her either. Her regenerative power was overwhelming, and every wound she suffered released more acid that steadily ate away at his weapons. This was the reason he had chosen massive maces, since even if their shape was worn down, they could still serve as effective tools of war.

His visor lit up as he watched the feed from one of his floating golems. He had released them into the air in hopes of understanding the situation. The original plan had been to call for aid from the people outside the palace. The cultist relics were powerful and would affect anyone entering from outside as well, yet they still had limits. If enough people came inside, the spell would begin to waver and might allow him to break it without destroying the relics. However, he had underestimated his enemies, and this was no longer possible.

The entire area outside the main castle was sealed within a massive invisible shield. The cult had seized control of it, and his golems could not break through. From the outside, no one would notice even if one of the towers collapsed and smoke filled the sky. It was now clear that they would either need to destroy the relics or focus on saving the Duke.

‘Redirect the drones to reconnaissance. Where are the relics hidden?’

“What is the meaning of this? I will not let you deny me my victory!”

As he focused on his visor, the witch struck. Her body had fully morphed into a grotesque fusion of black widow, scorpion, and human. To make matters worse, she possessed two tails, each ending in a stinger that secreted a different substance. Together, they ate away at his shields, layer by layer.

“Do you think I do not know where your precious relics are? Do you think you can hide them from me?”

He answered calmly while slamming one of the tails with his mace until it cracked under the force. The weapon itself split in return, but his magic held it together. The monster screamed in pain yet pressed on, relentless.

“You will not ruin my ascension. I will dream alongside the Lord!”

By now, Roland knew of the being they worshipped, the abyssal god. It went by many names, and some called it the living nightmare. He understood why. The cultists resembled the ones he had fought before, yet each was twisted in a unique way. Their bodies seemed shaped from fear itself: spiders, tentacles, and other grotesque forms that filled peopleʼs dreams.

‘Connection established.’

“Finally.”

Roland was not someone who grew emotional often, but when he saw the small line of text on his visor, he felt relief. Without turning around, he glanced through one of his floating golems. Through it, he could see that Arthur had finally reached the Duke. The bracelet Roland had given him was now on the Duke’s wrist, which meant the counterattack could finally begin.

“Now then.”

After establishing the link, Roland repeated the same procedure he had used with the others. By using the Duke’s mana pattern, he could produce a wake-up signal and block out the resonance of the relic. It only took a few moments, and soon the bracelet on the Duke’s hand began to shine.

“Is it as I predicted? I wish I had been wrong about this one…”

Roland bit his lip as he noticed something troubling. Even after the bracelet was activated, the Duke did not rise. Arthur gently shook him and called out, but the man remained asleep.

“Fat… I mean, Your Grace, you need to wake up. We need your aid. Can you hear me?”

The Duke only gave a faint grunt. He seemed barely conscious and in no condition to fight.

“Haha. Was that your glorious plan?”

The witch grinned with both her mouths as she watched their futile attempt to rouse the Duke.

“Even if you wake him, he will not help you!”

“What did you do to him?”

“Does it matter? You shall all die today and join me in the everlasting dream. Now surrender yourselves to the abyss!”

Her words made little sense, but Roland could piece together the truth. The Duke had likely been poisoned or struck by some disease. The cult was almost certainly behind it, emboldened enough by this advantage to launch their assault. Everything fit together now. They were confident of victory, and with several tier three class holders on their side, it was clear that they had invested a great deal into this plan. Failure was not something they intended to allow.

Roland had known that something was wrong with the Duke’s health, but he had not imagined it would be this severe. The Duke was still a tier four powerhouse, and Roland had assumed he would at least be able to handle this situation. Now it seemed, as it had so many times before, that the burden of escaping this predicament rested on his shoulders again.

To make matters worse, another fact had been confirmed. Arthur possessed another free bracelet, and it had already found its way onto the arm of one of the guards. To Roland’s surprise, the man who appeared to be the guard captain was unexpectedly weak, more like someone who had only recently become a tier three class holder rather than someone entrusted with protecting an injured Duke.

It was strange, yet at that moment, he had no time to dwell on the reason, as he needed to focus on the battle before him. He had a hunch that the strongest warriors were those who had arrived with Arthur’s brothers. Perhaps the true knights of power were indisposed for some reason, and the most likely cause was the cult. It had already managed to poison the Duke himself, so his finest warriors might have fallen to the same fate.

This meant Roland could rely only on himself and the few people still present. No one would come to their aid until the relics stopped sending out their ominous signal, and it was up to him and Arthur to succeed…