The Runesmith

The sound of hooves grew louder, rhythmic and deep like thunder rolling over the plains. Dust curled up behind a great column of cavalry and foot soldiers clad in blue and silver. Banners bearing the stag of House Valerian rippled in the wind as Alphonse,  Knight Commander of Theodore Valerian, rode at the front of a force nearly three thousand strong.

They came in orderly lines, disciplined and deadly. Their armor gleamed, untouched by battle, and their mounts were well-groomed. At the center of the formation marched a trio of siege towers and enchanted rams, prepared to tear down walls if necessary. But as the army scaled the final hill overlooking Aldbourne, a ripple of confusion passed through the ranks.

The city still stood. Its outer walls were intact. Smoke drifted lazily from chimneys, not the aftermath of destruction they expected. People moved through the battlements, not fleeing from their army, just curious. Evidence of a magical battle stretched in every direction. Craters of all sizes scarred the ground.

However, something was amiss. There were no intact monster corpses in sight. Only trails in the dirt remained, as though the bodies had been dragged away in haste. Here and there, parts of dead abominations still lay scattered, but anything of value had been taken. It was as if the people moving through the aftermath were salvage experts, determined to profit at all costs.

“This is most improper.”

Alphonse narrowed his eyes as he surveyed the city. Their intelligence had reported enemy forces taking control of Aldbourne, but nothing had prepared them for this. The outer walls showed little damage. Claw marks covered much of the surface, yet most of the stone fortifications had held firm. He had expected the gates to be breached and the battle to spill into the streets. He had assumed the city was only captured after the monsters had forced their way inside. But no such breach had occurred. To make matters worse, strange metallic contraptions were now attached to the walls, their purpose unclear and unsettling.

The strange metallic contraptions clicked and buzzed, their movements accompanied by a silent mechanical noise and bright flashing runes. From within their metal frames, tube-shaped appendages extended, resembling cannons. One by one, they shifted their aim, as if they had been waiting for someone to come within range. Alphonse sensed that something was wrong and immediately raised his hand in a clear signal.

“Raise thine shields!”

The front ranks complied at once, raising enchanted tower shields as the constructs began to glow. A heartbeat later, beams of concentrated mana shoot out from the walls, slamming into the shields with explosive force. Soldiers staggered. One unlucky group failed to raise protections in time and was blown off their feet, their armor scorched by heated mana.

“Fall back! Withdraw, beyond their reach, immediately, I say!”

Alphonse barked out orders while pulling his mount to a halt. The troops quickly retreated to a safer distance, shields raised and mages casting defensive barriers as the constructs paused, their mechanisms stopping as they recharged. Alphonse cursed under his breath and scanned the walls once more. Then, without warning, a figure rose into the air. It was a man clad in ornate, unfamiliar armor. He hovered effortlessly, as if the sky itself welcomed him, and a moment later, his voice carried across the entire field.

“I am High Commander Wayland of Albrook.”

“It’s him!”

Alphonse looked to his side, where one of his men shouted in indignation. The man floating above the city was the one responsible for this knight’s downfall. Not long ago, he had been a promising Knight Commander, but after suffering a crushing defeat, he was demoted. Despite the disgrace, his strength as a tier-three class holder remained unquestioned. He had been given another chance to prove himself, now serving as a Knight Captain. Yet he had never forgotten the humiliation that Commander Wayland had dealt him.

“Steady thyself, Emmerson. Let not thy heart betray thee.”

“…”

Emmerson gritted his teeth but listened. Alphonse’s eyes stayed locked on the floating figure. He knew who Roland was, and he had met the man before. His strength had been confirmed with his victory over Emmerson but he didn’t believe that he would lose himself if it came to a proper fair battle.  

“By request of Aldbourne’s acting mayor, we responded to the dungeon break. The local forces abandoned the city. Under noble law and the crisis edict, this territory is now under the protection of Arthur Valerian.”

A stunned silence fell over the soldiers behind Alphonse. Even Emmerson, who seethed with unspoken fury, paused at the boldness of the declaration.

“This city did not fall because of our efforts. Theodore Valerian abandoned it. He has no right to claim it. That is why you should all leave now, you are not welcome in these lands. If you do not retreat, we will see this as an act of war!”

Alphonse sneered. It was clear the man had come prepared, perhaps even expecting this confrontation. Still, this was not how the world worked. The strong always rose to the top, and from what Alphonse could see, their opposition lacked a proper army. Most likely, their own city had been struck hard by the dungeon break, and they could only spare a handful of soldiers to defend Aldbourne. This was the difference between the man he served, Theodore, and the upstart named Arthur. Theodore’s forces had been gathering for years, backed by superior resources and planning. Taking this city would not be difficult.

“Speak not thy justifications to mine ears. I care naught for twisted laws nor borrowed banners. This soil is sworn to Lord Theodore Valerian, by blood, by bond, and by birthright. Thou art trespassers all.”

He raised his arm, signaling to his officers. Mages began chanting, counter-barriers forming to intercept another volley from the wall golems. However, before anyone could attack, something unexpected happened, something not even the man floating up in the sky was counting on.

“I challenge you to a duel, face me!”

Emmerson’s voice rang out over the field, cutting through the rising tension like a blade. All eyes turned to him, his steely gaze locked onto Roland, and his voice was filled with barely contained rage. Alphonse turned, surprised, but did not stop him.

“I’ll settle this with him, here and now.”

Roland’s eyes narrowed behind his rune-etched helm. He had not expected this turn of events, but he saw the opportunity immediately. What he needed was time. The plan had been delayed, but everything was still progressing within acceptable limits. If these people were offering him a reason to stall, he would take it without hesitation.

“I accept.”

With that single word, Roland began to descend. He touched down with silent grace on the cracked earth that lay between the city and the advancing army. Emmerson dismounted, passing his reins to a nearby knight, and strode forward with his sword already drawn.

Behind them, atop the city walls, the golemic constructs remained facing the army, their cannons locked in place. Guards and civilians gathered to watch the duel unfold. For many, this was their first time witnessing such a clash: two tier-three knights, one a former Knight Commander who had lost his honor, the other a High Knight Commander serving a rising young noble. To the onlookers, it was a spectacle of legend. But to the man clad in runic armor, it was nothing extraordinary.

“I will be victorious. I will reclaim my honor!”

Roland gave no reply. Instead, he summoned a large tower shield from his spatial storage, followed by his refined war hammer. His armor gleamed with deep crimson hues, designed to channel flame magic and crafted to resemble the scales of a salamander. He had chosen a suit built for overwhelming firepower. The flame element was typically used for aggressive combat, but this time, he had no intention of ending the fight quickly.

What followed was not the explosive clash of titans that many had anticipated, but a strange, one-sided dance. Emmerson charged forward, his blade flashing with enchantments, every strike precise and sharpened by years of training. Yet Roland did not strike back. He moved with unexpected fluidity, his heavy armor seeming to glide as he sidestepped and twisted around each blow. He parried only when absolutely necessary.

The armor, though designed for offense, was used differently. Roland conjured protective flame shields to block sudden strikes and unleashed bursts of heated air to propel himself out of danger with swift dodges. Most attacks he absorbed with his tower shield, never allowing a single clean hit to land.

Minutes passed. The fight dragged on, and nothing changed. At times, it even seemed as if Emmerson was close to victory. Some in the crowd began to cheer, convinced he was gaining the upper hand. But Alphonse was not so easily deceived. He watched closely, and soon he understood what was really happening.

“He wishes to delay us…”

He muttered, his eyes narrowing. 

“He buyeth time, for some devilish scheme…”

The moment the realization struck, he turned sharply and barked out a new set of orders. The duel no longer mattered to him.

“Lay siege! Strike upon the gates with fury! Mages bring down their cursed constructs with spell and fire!”

The air erupted into motion. Siege towers rumbled forward, their wheels reinforced with arcane shielding. Mana bolts from the spider-like golems fired again, but this time they collided with layered barriers, their impact weakened or absorbed completely. The mages launched their own spells at the city walls, targeting weak points with precision. However, each blast was dispersed by strange bursts of runic energy.

Then they saw them. Thin metallic rods, previously hidden beneath plaster, were now visible along the walls. Once activated, the runes etched into their surface glowed through the faded layer of covering. Their function quickly became apparent. They generated protective barriers each time a spell struck the wall.

What made them even more unusual was their timing. The shields only activated moments before impact, then vanished just as quickly. It was as if the constructs could sense incoming attacks and conserve energy by responding only at the last possible second.

Roland felt the shift in tempo. His time was up, but that meant he no longer needed to stall. Emmerson seemed in high spirits, constantly using skills and equipment that continued to degrade from overuse of enchantments. He didn’t seem to care that the army behind him was beginning to stir. It was as if winning, even with superior numbers, was still enough to restore his sense of honor.

“So this is what Theodore’s men call an honorable duel?”

Roland triggered a burst of energy, propelling himself backward and into the air. Although his opponent had some long-range capabilities through his swordsmanship, their stats were simply too far apart. Even in the past, wearing inferior armor, Roland had beaten this man to a pulp with nothing but his bare hands. Now, clad in a superior suit crafted with state of the art runes, his victory was all but guaranteed.

“I thought you were a warrior!” 

Emmerson spat with anger. 

“Fight me properly!”

But Roland wasn’t listening. He stretched out his hands in front of his chest. His torso panel flipped open to reveal a reddish crystal at the center. The magical mineral began to glow, and runic traces surrounding it pulsated with raw power. A torrent of fiery energy erupted from the crystal. A massive cyclone of flame surged forward, engulfing Emmerson as he tried to close the distance with a desperate leap.

The ground beneath them was scorched black. Emmerson’s leap turned into a flailing stumble as the inferno overwhelmed his magical wards. He crashed to the earth, his armor glowing white-hot in places from the sheer intensity of the blast. Planting his feet, he raised his shield in a desperate attempt to defend himself.

Within seconds, he realized his mistake. His armor began to glow red, searing his skin as the flames closed in. The fire wrapped around him, swallowing him whole in a blazing prison.

“Emmerson!”

Alphonse shouted, watching in horror as his fellow knight was consumed before his eyes. It had all happened too quickly. The mages didn’t have time to react. Even when they finally cast their water spells and the priests began their recovery chants, it was already too late. Emmerson’s body had been reduced to charcoal. The fire magic had cooked him from the inside. His heavy armor had only intensified the effect, turning into a molten coffin. His flesh fused to the metal. When he finally fell, he was already gone, lifeless and unmoving.

“Thou knave! For that, thou shalt pay for that affront with thy life! I shall drag thy wretched corpse before my lord as proof of your folly!”

“Well, good luck with that…”

Roland didn’t stick around to get turned into a pincushion by the wave of arrows flying his way. The mages were just as relentless, bombarding him with a barrage of combination spells. But in the sky, he was untouchable. No one in the enemy force could pursue him there. They had no flying ships, no wyverns, nothing that could keep up with him. After dodging a few homing spells, he circled back and returned to the battlements.

“That was incredible. Are we moving in now?”

“Moving in? I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Just sit tight and hope we don’t have to abandon this place.”

As Roland landed, Armand called out to him. He and the rest of the group who had arrived in the city were already in position. All of them stood on the same wall, watching the enemy army charge toward them. Roland quickly connected to the golems stationed along the fortification and began issuing commands for them to open fire. Despite the golems’ support and a web of magical traps in the enemy’s path, Alphonse’s army continued its advance.

‘Fighting a well-organized army was something else entirely.’

It was easy to lure mindless monsters into his runic traps, but not these opponents. This was a properly trained army that knew how to handle themselves in battle. Their mages could trigger traps from a distance, and their archers used similar tactics. The enemy continued their advance, bringing with them battering rams and siege platforms. To make matters worse, they had begun to flank the city, as if they had seen through another of his tricks.

Most of the mana fluid had already been consumed during the defense against the dungeon break. His golems had suffered component burnout, and he had done what he could to either repair them or replace parts when possible. That left him with a difficult decision.

He took the remaining functional golems and stationed them on the side of the city where Alphonse’s main force was arriving. The other side was left mostly unguarded, and now it appeared the enemy had begun moving in that direction.

Roland’s eyes darted across the battlefield. From his spot atop the battlements, he could see it now, Alphonse’s flanking maneuver was working. The other wall, which he had deliberately left lightly defended to conserve power and focus their fire, was now vulnerable. Enemy troops were beginning to funnel toward it, their ranks breaking into a steady run.

“They’re going for it… Do it now!”

Although the area was mostly unguarded, one being still stood watch: a massive wolf engulfed in divine flames. As the enemy advanced, the beast leapt into the air, standing atop a strange glowing platform. With a thunderous roar, it unleashed a wave of fire in every direction. The sky lit up as the flames poured down like a blazing curtain, briefly halting the enemy’s momentum.

But Roland knew the wolf couldn’t hold the line for long. Still, he remained calm. A deep rumble rolled across the hills beyond the eastern ridge. It echoed through the valley like the distant footsteps of giants. Their allies had finally arrived.

The sound of rumbling grew louder as something massive approached in the distance. A cloud of dust rose behind a dense column of cavalry and infantry, their armor gleaming beneath the sunlight. Banners bearing the stag of House Valerian rippled in the wind. The sight was unmistakable. It was Arthur, not just the young lord in name, but the true commander. He rode at the head of a force five thousand strong, his personal guard gleaming in polished mithril, lances held high, cloaks streaming behind them like waves of the sea…

Arthur Valerian was finally making his presence known to the world. Roland let out a sigh of relief as he saw the allied army approaching at last. His efforts to stall the enemy had not been in vain. Now, the momentum was shifting back in their favor, and it was time to end this. 

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