(Second Book Complete!) Runeblade: A Delving & Skill Merging LitRPG

Kaius watched the stone that Kenva held tightly gripped in her bloodstained hands. Under the firelight from the nearby braizer it really did gleam like solidified blood—rich and oxygenated.

At first he’d thought that Kenva’s great secret was that the Hiwiann could create the bloodstones. Some ritual, or other edifice, that had them develop a latent blood magic unique to their culture.

It wouldn’t be the first ancient legacy of such a kind. The dwarves, with their mythic chanting that could reshape stone like clay, and the weather calming abilities of the fishfolk who were supposed to live around some distant isles off the eastern coast of Vaastivar were two that he’d heard of. Strange powers, supposedly holdovers from times long forgotten. Almost certainly pre-integration, considering Ekum himself had said that his world possessed magic long before the system. He doubted they still existed as wholly separate—it was difficult to imagine something as all-encompassing as the system struggling to work with whatever primitive rites that had been divined before its arrival.

When he’d asked, the ranger had quickly disabused him of that notion. Judging by the stark look on her face, he’d likely accidentally trodden on some toes by suggesting the bloodstone shards were the creation of simple people.

While her ability to summon the stone from her blood did have to do with a cultural rite, it wasn’t the source of the stones. No, the stones did indeed originate from the monolithic bloodstones that were so jealousy defended inside the few Hiwiann temple-cities on the Altier Steppe. They weren’t mined, though, like most thought.

Instead, during their famous equinox pilgrimages, secret rituals were conducted—encouraging and aiding the great plinths of red crystal to bequeath the blessing to the chosen of the Hiwiann at a time of year when their powers naturally waxed strong—the heights of spring and autumn, when the world’s heartblood peaked and crested.

The result? Power, imbued in the chosen’s blood—one that could be condensed into a small reflection of its source.

Of the rituals and rites, Kenva had shared nothing. He respected her request for their understanding, as did the rest of the team—even the ever curious Ianmus, much to his surprise. They were not secrets for the uninitiated, and his knowledge of them would serve little else than to aggravate any of her culture who might learn of his understanding.

Still, what she had shared explained more than a few things. He could definitely understand why the knowledge was so tightly held. The ritual was the only source of new shards, and any currently bound ones could not be separated from their hosts. Loose ones, such as the one Rieker owned? Shards of dead Hiwiann, and only of those who managed to substantiate and maintain it as such before passing on.

It was a final deathrite—one that was only performed amongst their own people, or those who had taken an oath of secrecy and could be trusted to return to their bearer’s clan.

No wonder it was almost unheard of to see the bloody things outside of Hiwiann hands. He couldn’t exactly imagine being thrilled to pass off Father’s bones to anyone — even if they were a close friend — doubly so if the bones had incredibly rare, incredibly valuable powers.

It made him wonder what in the cursed hells Rieker had done to get ahold of one. It had to be something of significance, since he doubted that the man had gotten it through underhanded means—not with his close relations with Ro.

Hells, Kenva herself had been suspicious when they’d mentioned that, until they had mentioned his chief aide was Hiwiann herself.

He’d been tempted to press for more—to see if the ranger had heard of the guild administrators who had helped them so much—but Kenva finally looked ready to propose her oath, so he held his tongue.

“I propose a simple oath,” Kenva finally said, looking up from the stone in her hand to sweep her gaze across the team. “I know it was without intention, but you have all already proven your character through the Three Gifts, and it would sicken me to bind you unnecessarily.”

Kaius gave her a half smile and nodded, Porkchop and Ianmus giving their own assents. He had little problems with making an oath, especially not with someone who was bound by much the same secrets as they were—let alone his and Porkchop’s own secrets about their hand in the phase shift.

“Would you agree to swear that, as a group, we shall bind ourselves together—to never share each other’s secrets told in confidence, learned now and previously, except with express permission?” Kenva continued, a thrumming reverberation echoing in her voice as that coated her hand shimmered.

There was a weight to her speech, one that had been absent from his earlier oaths with Rieker and Ro—as if the world had leaned in, its breath baited as it waited for their response.

Kaius met Porkchop and Ianmus’s eyes, seeing a reflection of his respect for the moment. They both gave him a nod.

“We will,” he replied, returning back to Kenva.

She gave him a nod, full of slow significance, and drew her blade once more. Slicing her hand, she let her weeping blood touch the stone—infused with the soul-tinged light of her mana.

Reciting the words, she gasped as a power descended, binding her to their pact.

Porkchop was next, slicing through the pad of his paw with casual ease before he recited the words—his lack of audible sound not enough to hinder the ancient magic.

After his brother, it was Ianmus, and then finally, him.

Cutting his palm, he recited the oath solemnly, feeling the weight of the world watching his promise grow with every syllable. With his final utterance, the oath solidified—rushing back through his soul to bind him forever more. Or, at least from what he could instinctively sense, until his own natural power outgrew that of the Bloodstones from which the shard had come.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from NovelFire; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Sighing as the weight of the unseen watcher retreated, Kaius looked down at the stone, before looking up at Kenva. A thought occurred to him.

“Forgive me if this is an inappropriate question, for I am but a man who has grown up in the woods,” he started, hoping to avoid a repeat of the rudeness he accidentally shown Ro by asking her to make an unbalanced oath.

The ranger tilted her head at him, curious—but thankfully not guarded. “Of course.”

“I was wondering, while we have access to this, would it be possible that I could swear another oath? That I won’t share my legacy with others under duress? It seems that it would provide some measure of deterrence against men like those who captured us.” he asked.

While it clearly wasn’t a complete protection—Kenva herself had been captured after all, though he suspected that it was primarily due to opportunity rather than a planned attack—it would still be a nice ward against those without the means to access a mind cracker. Such classes were universally outlawed, or at least tightly controlled, after all—and almost as rare as oathbinding ones, to boot.

Kenva shook her head, giving him an apologetic smile. “Unfortunately not—the Bloodstones are not without limits, unfortunately. The tales say it is an old form of magic, based on sympathetic bindings and the connection all beings hold in their blood.” Shifting her weight, she leaned onto one arm. “It requires an oath be shared, not taken. You could swear not to share them with us under duress, but unless you had one of your clan a more general oath would not take. Even then, you would need an elder, preferably one involved in your tutorship, to prevent the oath from being fragile and weak.”

Kaius grunted, feeling a sudden surge of grief and bitterness. Of course the magic was denied to him without the assistance of his Father.

Schooling his expression, he passed the stone back to its owner. Evidently, he didn’t do a great job, because Kenva watched him closely—her eyes softening in concern.

At least she had the sense to not press the matter. Instead, she sliced her palm for the third time, and Kaius got to witness the Bloodstone shard dissolve into vital fluid before it flowed back into her veins.

Holding his breath for a moment, he breathed out slow to banish his negativity. He had a long tale ahead of him—one full of daring exploits, and hair gripping turns. It would be a travesty to let a minor disappointment ruin it.

“Well, I suppose I best go first—since it’s only fair after I insisted we enter this delve. Get comfortable, it’s a long one.” Kaius said, clambering to his feet.

“Where are you going?” Ianmus asked, leaning back on his hands as he looked up at him with a questioning cock of his head.

“Grabbing supplies from Porkchop’s bag—no way am I doing this without a proper meal.” he replied with a grin.

“Oh, thank the gods, I don’t have to ask.” his brother said, his claws dragging slow patterns through the dust that covered the floor.

…

Sitting propped up against the dubious comfort of one of the rooms carved pillars, Kaius used a long wooden spoon to push around sizzling cubes of beef inside of his Traveller’s Pan. A few more minutes, and it’d be browned enough that he could store the meat in his spatial ring where it could sit in stasis while he cooked the onions and peppers.

It was a handy tool, though it definitely felt a little sacrilegious to use something so valuable for such a mundane task. That said, he couldn’t really bring himself to care—not when he could perfectly sense the isolated piles of diced vegetables and freshly ground spices that he’d set aside in the dimension space.

The fact that his brother’s bag’s contents had been left untouched had nearly been enough for him to make a prayer to the god of the harvest—nearly. He knew that it was mostly because of good luck that whoever decided what should be stored in the vault hadn’t arrived during their captivity.

Still, as he had looked through the kitchen’s worth of food he had crammed into his brother’s dimensional bag, he couldn’t help but feel it wouldn’t be enough.

Despite his almost irrational need to hoard enough supplies for multiple months of meals, they were likely going to be in the Depths for longer than that—he wanted to stretch the harder to obtain ones for as long as possible. Afterall, it wasn’t a certainty that the biome would contain anything edible, and he knew rest zones got harder to find and more infrequent the deeper one delved.

Thankfully, they still had their refilling water skin, and enough spices for a decade—so they had the vital essentials covered.

The meal would be a mild one, compared to his usual fair. While a large part of him longed to whip up a curry or stew that was as rich and as spiced as he could make it, he didn’t think it would be the best choice for a first meal after so long spent eating watery gruel. Even with their stats, that sounded like a recipe for indigestion.

Seeing the meat had seared to perfection, Kaius swiped his hand over the pan, and replaced it with his diced vegetables.

Beside him, Porkchop chuffed at the puff of steam.

“Smells good,” his brother said, not looking up from where he was amusing himself by drawing shapes in the thick dust that coated the ground with an invisible hand. He’d been at it since Ianmus had located his Stud of Lesser Ghosthand in the pile of artifacts they had stolen.

The mage in question sat across from him, still picking his way through the pile—analysing each one carefully, as he sat them aside based on their possible usefulness.

Kenva just watched him, a curious look in her eyes.

He gave her a smile. It was probably best he stop stalling. They’d already made their oaths, now it was time to spill his secrets. While doing so was still not easy, he’d had a little practice at it now, and there was an oath protecting him. He’d manage.

Picking up the waterskin that was slung in the middle of them, Kaius took a swing to wet his throat, before he gave the onions a half hearted stir.

“I suppose the best place to start would be at the beginning.” he finally said, hearing his team draw quiet. He kept his eyes trained on the onions—if they burned he would have to start again.

“I grew up in the Arboreal Sea, the final scion of Unterstern, with only my crippled father for company. He was a good man, and a better teacher—if a harsh one. First and most important amongst the lessons he taught me was the complete legacy of my family.”

He glanced up, checking the ranger’s reaction.

She stared at him, her jaw slack and her eyes wide.