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

Though Kaius relaxed somewhat as the bandits fled, he did not lower his guard. Kanmost’s presence loomed behind him like a spectre, separated by thin cloth and the barrier of his Warhaven. No matter the shock of the Archivist’s level, even a Silver scholar would be a fragile thing.

The man was his charge, and any number of threats could lurk, waiting for a single moment of inattention and weakness.

Kaius scanned the ruined and body-strewn camp, glossing over the shattered wreckage of tents and the steaming puddles of blood as he searched for any sign of movement. The cliffs above were clear too, Steelroot and his men having already left to reconvene with Lord Flowers.

“The bandits have fled,” he said, loud enough for Kanmost to hear. “But until my team arrives, I will need you to stay where I can keep you safe.”

There was no response for a moment, until a shaky voice cut clean through the canvas. “You said you were a friend of a friend — who? I cannot think of any I know that employ men of your ilk. Not of your power, or your ruthlessness.”

There was an accusatory edge to the Archivist’s words that made Kaius wince. Perhaps he hadn’t made the best impression — his actions had directly led to the man’s throat being cut.

“Appologies, Archivist — I promise I did only what I thought necessary to secure your safety. I knew the spell would heal you, and that I was fast enough to end the threat. I appreciate that your wound must have been…unpleasant.”

“Do you? You know the pain of having your flesh torn as your lifeblood flows free, the feeling of the cold dark closing in?”

Kaius chuckled. “More than you could ever know, Archivist. From experience, being gutted is worse.”

“Barbarian,” the man accused after a moment’s pause.

“True enough, my Path has certainly been a bloody one.”

“And yet you say you are a friend of a friend, despite my efforts to only keep refined company.”

Kaius could hear the man warming up — he sounded less accusatory now, and more like he was working off some of his tension with his needling. That worked for him, especially when the Archivist’s curiosity built with every word. Not even forced captivity seemed to have blunted the man’s hunger for knowledge.

“An old student of yours, from Sunspire. Ianmus.”

“Ianmus?! He lives? I was worried he had been caught in the shifting of the ages, given the timing of the System message — he should have been on the road.”

Kaius laughed again. “That he was — it’s how we met.”

“That explains how a fresh graduate could make the acquaintance of a warrior like yourself,” Kanmost mused. “But how did he discover my disappearance, and why would you pursue me on his plea alone?”

“Oh, he is more than an acquaintance, and we have been on your trail since we arrived in Baanswell a few months ago — but I think I will let him tell the story for himself.”

“You brought him to Vainblood?! Are you insane?”

Kaius grinned, but did not answer. Instead he looked up to the jutting rock on the cliff, meeting Kenva’s eyes. He tilted his head questioningly. She gave him a thumbs up, and gestured that they’d meet him soon. She vanished with Ianmus, making for the head of the cliff.

“Patience, good man — we have much to discuss,” he said, before reaching out to his bond with Porkchop. His brother was aching, but satiated in the way he always was after a brawl.

“All clear?”

Porkchop snorted soundly. “Their spirits broke the second you dropped the sky on them. The last few stragglers just vanished into the trees.”

“And our backline? Ianmus was slow on the spell, and I saw some blood on the cliff face.”

“A few far scouts were making for the camp when they noticed the commotion. Kenva took them out quickly, but they arrived at a bad time.”

It was what it was — everything had turned out fine, even if there’d been a bit of a stand off for a minute.

“I’ll see you soon,” Kaius said, feeling his brother’s acknowledgement flow back to him.

“You can come out now,” Kaius said out loud. “Just stay inside the edges of the spells.”

There was a rustle behind him as a bloodstained hand pulled back the flap of the tent cautiously. Kanmost crept out, freezing as he took in the slaughter of the camp once more. Blinking, he pulled his eyes away, focusing on Kaius instead.

“You still haven’t answered me — why did you bring Ianmus to this place? He would be nothing but a liability,” the Archivist said, his frown warping through the shimmering barrier that separated them. Despite the man’s circumstances, frigid disapproval radiated from him.

Kaius gave the man a rogueish smile. “The child you knew is long gone, good man. Ianmus is my mage, and has grown far more than you could imagine.”

“What?” Kanmost said, confused. He froze a moment later as pounding feet echoed through the ravine.

“My team,” Kaius said, feeling his brother grow closer by the second. They must have been moving at a full sprint — no doubt Ianmus was anxious to reunite with his old teacher.

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Within moments, they arrived. Porkchop sprinted into the camp first, his fur bloodstained and scorched from his earlier unarmored brawl. Kanmost scrambled back at the sudden sight of his bulk — only to freeze a moment later.

“A meles? Impossible!” he hissed.

“Entirely possible!” Porkchop replied, not slowing down for a moment. “Please excuse me!”

Kaius’s eyes widened, realising his brother’s intention. He dashed to the side in a desperate bid to escape, but Porkchop had veiled his intentions until he had been a mere dozen strides away. Hooked claws snagged his ankles, yanking his feet out from under him. He hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, air driven from his lungs.

“Hey!”

“That’s for dropping a Starfall on me!”

“What in the hells are you talking about! It was your idea!” Kaius yelled back, pushing himself to his feet as the rest of his team sprinted into the camp.

“Yes, but I still had to get you back.”

Kanmost stood rooted to the spot, flicking between them and Ianmus’s rapidly approaching form. “Have I gone mad?”

“I’m afraid not,” Kaius said, reaching up to smack Porkchop on the back of the head. “Way to make a good impression.”

Porkchop just chuckled.

“Kanmost!” Ianmus yelled, running to his old teacher.

The Archivist took a hesitant step forward, stopping just before the edge of Warhaven. “Ianmus? But you’re Silver?!”

“So are you!” Ianmus laughed, launching through the wavering edge of Kaius’s spell to wrap the man in a crushing hug. He pulled back, still gripping the Archivist’s shoulders as he grinned widely. “I am so glad that you are alive.”

Kanmost just starred at Ianmus for a moment, before he staggered — nearly falling as he tripped over one of the headless bodies that lay scattered around him.

Lunging forward, Ianmus steadied the man with ease — even the Silver Strength of a mage was more than enough to carry the weight of a man.

“Perhaps we should sit and talk,” Ianmus said slowly. “Somewhere with a little less blood.”

“The marquee?” Kaius suggested — it had plenty of seats. It looked like Brokenlight had been using it as a command centre as well as a place to sleep. “Unless it holds too many bad memories of course.”

“It’s fine,” Kanmost said, waving off both him and Ianmus. “But yes, a seat would be good. This is… a lot to take in.”

They entered the marque, filing in behind Ianmus and Kanmost. The mage kept one hand on Kanmost’s shoulder — as if worried the man would vanish if he looked away.

Kaius hadn’t gotten the best look at the place when he had first entered, far too occupied with the imminent threat to Kanmost’s life. Now it was clear that Brokenlight was a man of casual opulence. Four oil paintings dangled from the crossbeams that kept the tent’s wall sturdy — a king on a throne, a burning castle wrought in dusky hues, and two landscapes of armies clashing on an open field. Beneath the painting of the castle, a set of rich mahogany chesterfields dominated one side of the marque.

Brokenlight must have been an obscenely wealthy man, because the only way he could have possibly brought all of this here was with storage artefacts.

Kaius shoved aside a highbacked armchair to make room for Porkchop as they took their seats. For a moment, Kanmost sat in a silent daze, before he exploded with a thousand questions, each one blurring together as the words spilled from his mouth in a torrent.

How were they here? Why was Ianmus Silver? How had one of the legendary meles joined their cause? What were the strange inscriptions on Kaius’s face, and how did he cast without channeling? How had they found his trail, and what was their relationship with his patron?

It was, quite frankly, endearing. Despite his circumstances, Kanmost adjusted to his freedom quickly, displaying a rare steadfast resilience for one who was not a warrior. Plus, Kaius could appreciate voracious curiosity. The gods knew that he had been plagued by enough mysteries to last a lifetime.

In the end, it was easiest to give the man an abridged explanation of their entire journey since the phase change, less any secrets too obscene — namely Kaius’s full legacy. Every step of their journey pulled only more questions from the depths of the Archivist’s mind, the minutes bleeding together as the stench of fresh blood grew cold and stale in the air.

Eventually, Kaius had to hurry things along — wary that they were lurking in a killsite. It was only a matter of time until some monstrosity came to investigate the source of so much stinking meat.

“Sorry, Archivist, but we will need to speed this up a bit — it is not safe for us to remain here,” Kaius said.

The man waved him off. “I understand, boy — Vainblood is a vicious place. We will need to head for the Crater soon anyway, if we are to reach the Wellspring of Ceth’n in time for the dawn of winter.”

So Julian had been right — Kanmost did have a core of iron to him. Though, that was already evident by how quickly he had rebounded from having his throat slashed.

Once they had finished explaining their time in Baanswell, Kanmost rocked back in his seat and stared at Kaius with curiosity.

“Well, that was a fantastical story, though we live in fantastic times — like dawning years of the integration,” the Archivist said. “Though, there are holes in it. One such as me is used to such things — they paint a strange tapestry. Who are you? Pursued by assassins, living in hiding, a man of so competent means that you could tempt a meles to ancient oaths? It makes me curious, especially when you are cut adrift so thoroughly that you sought the help of someone of my peerage to find your roots.”

Kaius met the man’s eyes silently, hoping that he could trust Ianmus’s judgement of character. But what secrets did he have to worry about? If he wanted the man’s help to find his family, he would have to speak.

Kanmost was utterly undeterred by his silence, nor the glances the rest of his team shared. He charged onwards.

“An ordained of the Frozen Moon? A chosen son of the Minrian Empire? Or maybe something stranger? A Risen House, perhaps?

Every single one of them froze.

Kanmost stared at Kaius in plain disbelief, before he looked at the rest of their team. He rocked back in his chair, breathing out slowly.

“By all of the merciful gods,” he whispered. “I was joking! Give me your hand.”

The archivist reached out.

“Excuse me?” Kaius said, confused.

“I saw a glimpse of it earlier, the emblem on your palm. I thought it looked familiar — show it to me,” Kanmost demanded.

Kaius reached out. The man snatched his hand, rolling it over to stare at the sharp black lines that sprawled across his skin. A hanging longsword, suspended beneath a blazing star.

The Archivist stared at the sigil for a long moment, until he said something that gripped Kaius by his very heart.

“One of the lost heraldries, how fascinating.”