Chapter 194: Third Rune
Abel sat quietly on the edge of the velvet-lined bed, the grandeur of his chamber doing little to settle the whirlwind of emotions that churned inside him.
The meeting with the three Magians still lingered in his mind like an echo—powerful, humbling, and deeply surreal.
He had stood before legends. Not only had they acknowledged him, but they had also rewarded him.
He now held Magian-level artifacts, one-use trump cards powerful enough to rival a Stage 1 Magian.
On top of that, the contribution points he had earned were no small sum.
They were more than currency—they were access. Access to books, forbidden knowledge, rare materials, and perhaps most importantly, further growth.
He felt a surge of satisfaction. His efforts, his risks, his survival—they had all meant something.
The Flower Spirit hadn’t just been a turning point for Bask; it had changed the trajectory of his entire life.
But even as that thrill warmed his chest, the cold memory of Duskton Village crept in like a shadow stretching across the light.
His home. His family. Gone. Slaughtered and buried under a cruel stone of silence. A wave of sorrow tried to pull him under, but Abel clenched his fists.
“I won’t forget,” he whispered to the empty room. “Not now. Not ever.”
He had made a vow to carry their memory with him and to grow stronger so that one day, justice would be delivered to those who tore his world apart.
He wouldn’t allow himself to wallow.
His gift—this strange, rare ability to digest runes quickly—wasn’t something to be taken for granted. If anything, it was his weapon, and he would sharpen it to its finest edge.
Just then, his badge pulsed against his chest, a faint glow breaking his thoughts.
He reached for it and pressed two fingers to the insignia. Mana flowed, and a series of messages flickered into view—familiar names lighting up his display.
Sena. Ronald. Isabella.
They were all asking the same thing:
"When are you coming?"
Abel stared at the words for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Even in the chaos of this world, some threads still held. People still waited for him. Cared for him.
He sat back, mind steadying, resolve deepening.
There was still work to be done. And he wouldn’t walk the path alone.
Abel leaned against the ornate desk in his room, golden sunlight pouring through the wide balcony doors as he sent out a series of messages through his badge.
“I’m heading to the Tower,” he wrote simply. “Might take a few days to get there.”
The replies came swiftly, faster than he expected.
Sena’s message arrived first, crisp and full of that same burning energy Abel had always associated with him.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"I won’t be at the Tower by the time you arrive," Sena wrote. "I’ve bought intel on a Hellfire rune located far to the west. I’ve been preparing for months. If I don’t go now, I’ll lose the opportunity. But we’ll meet again—two years from now, at the expedition."
Abel stared at the message for a moment, the words “two years” lingering in his mind.
The expedition… the Tower had mentioned it briefly during the inauguration ceremony.
A grand undertaking, meant for all Rank 2 apostles and above, to descend into the massive hole that had appeared during the calamity and explore the first three layers.
It was said to go ten layers deep, but only Magians had the strength to withstand anything below the third. It would be one of the most significant events in recent history—and now it had a date.
Two years.
Abel’s heart tightened with anticipation. So much could happen in that time.
Sena had always been the type to throw himself headfirst into danger. The moment he saw that Ronald had reached Rank 2, his competitiveness had flared like a wildfire. “I need to catch up,” Sena had once told him. “I need something to fight.”
Abel smiled faintly at the thought. Typical Sena. But he respected him for it. Everyone was fighting their own battles, chasing their own growth.
Soon after, Ronald and Isabella’s messages arrived together. They were still at the tower and said they’d be staying for a few more days in hopes of seeing him.
Ronald’s message was casual, as always, but there was a quiet pride in his words—he’d finally made it to Rank 2.
Isabella was more direct, telling Abel that she wanted to compare notes on inscriptions and research methods, already planning ahead for their reunion.
Abel felt a quiet warmth in his chest.
Even though their paths were starting to diverge, even though the road ahead was vast and uncertain, the bond they shared remained intact.
They had stepped into this world together, and now they were making names for themselves, one step at a time.
With a final glance at the messages, Abel straightened and took a breath. He was ready.
It was time to return to the Tower.
Abel’s smile lingered as he closed the last message. It warmed him more than he expected, knowing his friends were still reaching out—still thinking of him despite the distance and time that separated them. But duty called, and curiosity always followed.
Opening the tower’s latest communiqué, he reviewed the information regarding the upcoming expedition—a grand journey planned for two years from now.
It would be the largest venture into the mysterious layers beneath Bask yet. The details were sparse, but enough to stir anticipation.
Apostles would be split into groups and assigned to different layers of the expedition site.
Whatever lay beneath the known surface of the world… it was big enough that they needed years to prepare.
He absorbed the words with a sense of rising purpose. This wasn’t just a footnote in his life—it would be another pivotal chapter.
Closing the message, Abel stood from his seat and walked to the balcony of his temporary residence in Bask Castle.
The night air was cool and crisp, the sky above a dome of twinkling constellations. The stars, as always, felt like they were watching him.
A familiar buzz of excitement curled in his chest. He couldn’t wait any longer.
He closed his eyes, his pulse steady but electric, and whispered beneath his breath, “Rune of the Shooting Star Swordsman.”
The air shifted.
In an instant, his body was wrapped in a breathtaking explosion of radiant energy.
Streaks of white-blue starlight twisted around him like spiraling comets, threads of pure astral fire stitching themselves into his limbs.
The room dimmed for a moment as if the cosmos itself leaned closer to watch. His silhouette burned bright—no longer just a man, but a vessel of celestial momentum.
But this rune... this was no ordinary inheritance.
It didn’t simply amplify him. It transcended him.
A thousand movements flashed through his mind—blade arcs traced in light, footwork that mirrored the dance of meteors, instinct honed by the memory of stars that had burned across the skies for eons.
It was a transformation of spirit as much as body. His stance shifted without conscious thought, his fingers flexed as if they had always wielded a blade crafted from cosmic steel.
This wasn’t a skill. This was a legacy.
His breath drew in—slow, calm—while his heart beat like war drums in his chest.
He stepped forward.
Then, without hesitation, he leapt from the balcony.
The wind screamed around him, but he didn’t fall.
He cut through the sky like a shooting star reborn.
In an instant, a sonic shimmer cracked through the night air as his body burst forward like a shooting star, tearing across the sky. His cloak flared behind him, caught in the trail of brilliant starlight. Below, onlookers across the city gasped and pointed toward the heavens.
"Did you see that?" one whispered.
"A shooting star…?"
"Make a wish!"
To them, it was a fleeting moment of wonder—a celestial phenomenon slicing through the sky. But to Abel, it was something far more profound.
It was freedom. Mastery. Ascension.
As he soared higher, streaking toward the horizon, Abel grinned to himself. The world was vast, mysterious, dangerous, and utterly beautiful.
And now, he was ready to carve his name across its stars.
