The Runic Alchemist

—

To Maximus of Eldoris Royal Research Division,

By decree of the High Council of

Highsword Academy

, Maximus-The Morph Vialist, to whom this letter is written, You have been invited to join the fifth year of the Highsword Academy—a rare honor extended only to those whose talents are deemed extraordinary. Your mastery in potion-making and innovative creations have distinguished you as one whose potential aligns with the academy's storied legacy.

For centuries,

Highsword Academy

has been the crucible where the finest minds and boldest talents are forged into greatness. This invitation signifies not only recognition of your achievements but also the expectation that you will rise to meet the challenges and opportunities that await within our halls.

Enclosed, you will find your admission seal and instructions for your arrival. The academy demands excellence; we trust you will meet it with the same brilliance that has brought you here.

Welcome to

Highsword Academy

, where the exceptional become eternal.

With due regard,

Sir Torvyn Embercrown

Chancellor of Highsword Academy

—

Damian raised an eyebrow. An invitation? That was new. Would they rank him lower if he refused? Right now, everyone knew his name, but hardly anyone knew his face. He'd barely left the divine tree in the past four years. Ashenvale had not been shy about sending people to investigate him. Even Dawnstar and Faerunia had tried. The butler never missed updating him on who had been caught spying or attempting to infiltrate the castle. None had succeeded. Some even carried poisons and exploding runic scrolls. Surprisingly, the empire didn't seem to care much about him, even though his potions were rumored to resemble their runic devices.

Damian had asked repeatedly to see these tools, but the skirmishes at the borders never escalated to the point where one side was desperate enough to reveal them—or unable to destroy them before being captured. Only high-ranking Empire's officers seemed to possess these tools.

The others in the room were staring at him, noticing his shifting expressions. But Damian's thoughts had already drifted far from the invitation. Finally, Sam got impatient, snatched the envelope, and started reading. The Queen and the spellsword shot him disapproving looks, but Einar leaned over curiously, and even the princess peeked in, forgetting her manners. Her mother glared at her, but the princess tactfully ignored it.

"An invitation!?" Einar exclaimed.

Sam hadn't even finished reading it yet. The princess, meanwhile, froze solid, her eyes wide as saucers.

"The Highswords invited him? That super-powerful group of old dudes personally invited this guy?" Sam asked, exasperated even pointing at Damian's cheeks. This guy seriously tested his patience.

Even from his small village, Sam must have heard of them. Most of their famous exploits were old news. With peace in the five kingdoms, they weren't as prominent these days. The invasion of Ashenvale had supposedly drawn their attention, but Eldoris's army, led by Vidalia, had followed strict wartime rules, avoiding harm to civilians. They only conquered palaces and looted treasures as recompense for Ashenvale's transgressions. The Broken Greed War had ended too soon for reports of civilian casualties to reach the Highsword headquarters. Otherwise, they might have intervened to assist Eldoris—or so people said. Damian wasn't so sure though.

The Highswords might have been a legendary organization born of noble intentions, but were they still the same? Apart from their monster extermination efforts, they hadn't done much of note in decades. Why had they spared Dawnstar, which also exploited Ashenvale's weakened state? Eldoris handled Dawnstar on the battlefield, but Damian suspected many lives were lost before then. People assumed the empire's restraint stemmed from the Highswords' presence, but was that really the case? Who really knew?

Cynicism aside, a thousand-year-old library filled with rare spells was tempting. He could use a vacation. It was risky, sure, but what was the point of all his powers if he couldn't even visit an island for a while? Worst-case scenario, he could leave. He had one spatial storage room full of a stockpile of wormhole runic scrolls sewn together of 5 parchments—he called it the strategy "R," aka Run the hell away as fast as possible. The stack had cost 450 gold, excluding the free mana ink from the research lab. If he used them all in a linked sequence, he could probably teleport across Ashenvale, Dawnstar, and part way into Faerunia. Discover exclusive tales on empire

"That's never happened before, has it?" the princess asked her mother, forgetting their audience.

Her mother didn't seem to mind. "The last person they invited was Hellstrom, three decades ago."

"That Faerunian Hellstrom? How old is that guy?" Sam asked, a hidden hint of anger in his voice. Damian noticed it, and so did the Queen.

Sam had always harbored resentment toward the Faerunians, and Damian couldn't blame him. They'd almost killed him. If he hadn't intervened, they likely would have succeeded. Sam never spoke about what happened to him in that dark cell, but Damian suspected it fueled his intense training. Still, Sam never mentioned revenge, at least not openly. And Damian hoped it was just his negative thinking and that was not the reason for his training dedication.

"Barely half a century," the spellsword replied, her tone nonchalant in the way only elves could manage why talking about age.

"Will you go?" the Queen asked Damian.

"If it's not a problem," Damian replied.

"It's fine. It'll be better with you there. Can I ask you to look after my daughter?"

"Uh, she already has two people looking after her," Damian said. "The potions?"

"Dawnstar isn't claiming more territories, and Vidalia has more land than we can manage. We have enough potion stock for six months. I'll send word if the situation changes."

Damian nodded.

"The runesmith professor there is the highest-ranked active runesmith in the world. Perhaps he can repair your tool," the Queen added.

Perfect. Damian now had even more motivation to go.

"Keep her safe, and I'll give you this." The Queen removed a peculiar hairpin, faint traces of spacetime and dark mana emanating from it. His senses had evolved with his skills to tell the element of mana apart even in the environment.

"What is it?" Damian asked.

"A runic pen. It writes with mana ink and never runs out." The queen said, smiling at him. Damian was really curious to see how the hell did that work but something didn't feel right,

"Why are you so worried about her safety?"

The Queen's expression hardened, but she exchanged a hesitant glance with the spellsword. "We've heard rumors—nothing concrete. But there's news of the Shadow Reaver operating in chaotic Ashenvale, gathering resources for the… Organization."

And of course, Another significant change over the past four years was the emergence of a leader among the beastmen—something unheard of since the fall of their nations, they called him the Shadow Reaver. While much of this was shrouded in rumor, there was undeniable evidence of an underground organization with an agenda that threatened all five kingdoms. Hand-drawn posters and booklets had been circulating, even within the capital of Eldoris, filled with anti-royalty rhetoric and calls for aggression to empower beastmen communities. Damian could understand her worries and just nodded at her in understanding.