The Runesmith

Chapter 604: Silent Dream.

“There he is. Get ready and remember what I told you.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Ivan nodded slightly as the door to the assembly hall began to open. The nobles around him turned their attention toward the entrance, with one exception: his wife. The duchess’s daughter-in-law lingered a step behind the others, as if her status were beneath theirs. Her gaze fixed on the great door in the distance, but soon it drifted to the sides where other eyes were waiting to meet hers.

‘It is time…’

She thought while taking a small step backward. The nobles standing nearby were too absorbed by the duke’s entrance to notice her slipping away. Even her husband Ivan, who seemed captivated by her beauty, did not turn his head. His focus remained on his father, the overlord of the island and the man who dictated the fate of everyone who lived there.

She turned and drifted into the dim corridors of the Valerian Manor. Each stride was unnervingly precise, as if she glided along the floor rather than walked upon it. The guards stationed nearby gave no sign of noticing her presence, as though their eyes refused to acknowledge her passage along the walls. She moved faster now, her skirts brushing the stone walls, her breath steady and measured. Yet her heart pounded with dark excitement. This was her moment to rise, her only chance to prove to the others that she belonged in her position.

“Your Priestess commands you to come forth. The time has come to prove your worth.”

From the shadows, something began to emerge. The stone walls shifted in unnatural ways, bending like cloth. Occult symbols flickered faintly across the surface before a figure pulled itself free of the rock.

“Arch Priestess. We come to serve the abyss.”

The voice was low and rasping, neither wholly male nor female. It unsettled the air, but more disturbing still was the fact that it was not alone. More shadows appeared, peeling away from the castle walls as if they had lingered there for ages. Their forms were concealed beneath dark robes and masks fashioned with twisting tentacles, each bearing a single large eye at the center.

The woman, once known only as Ivan’s meek wife, lifted her chin as the first robed figure bowed before her. The veil that had hidden her features slipped to the floor, revealing a cruel smile. Her bright violet eyes gleamed as her gown shifted and reshaped into the garb of a cultist, the vestments of one who served the god of the abyss.

Her gown shifted as if alive, transforming into flowing abyssal robes. What had once been lace and finery became heavy fabric etched with faint, shifting symbols. The patterns twisted into eyes that opened and blinked across her sleeves. A mantle of shadow draped over her shoulders, fastened by living tentacles that writhed in silence.

At her waist, cords of black thread bound the garment, pulsing faintly like veins. For a brief moment, her face was bare, but then a mask slid into place over her eyes. From beneath it, an unsettling violet glow radiated, pulsing in rhythm with her voice each time she spoke.

From her presence alone, the chamber grew colder, as though the abyss itself had seeped into the world through her very robes. The robed figures bent low before the woman, their voices joining in a whispered chorus that slithered across the stone corridors like snakes:

“For the Abyss, we bleed. For the Abyss, we serve. All is for the everlasting dream.”

Her smile deepened as she watched their loyalty to the abyss and to the glorious one. She raised a pale hand, and the whispers fell silent. Only the fading rays of the setting sun remained, casting long shadows across the cultists’ masks.

“Do you have the secret relics?”

She addressed one of the cloaked men, the first to step forward. His mask was different from the rest, marked with three eyes instead of one.

“Yes, Arch Priestess.”

The man straightened and drew a small obelisk from within his robe. Its power was still dormant, yet the occult runes glowed faintly, ready to awaken. Though small, it radiated a strange force. He was not the only one. Soon many others revealed the same relics, each identical to the first.

“Well done. The Duke is a powerful man. Even weakened, he may still find a way to escape the grand dream world. Follow the plan. Place the relics at the agreed locations and wait for my signal.”

“As you wish, Arch Priestess.”

The grin never left her face. At last, it was time to prove her worth. Everything depended on this day, yet failure was not something she allowed herself to consider. Either she would succeed or she would perish. In her mind, the lord of the abyss would never let her die a useless death. And if she did, it would be by his will, for through him the endless dream they longed for would one day come to pass.

The masked cultists soon faded away, their shadowy forms slipping into the walls. The nobles were too busy cheering for the Duke to notice what was about to unfold.

“Truly pathetic.”

She whispered to herself as she made her way back to the grand hall. Not a single person paid her any attention. Everything was proceeding with ease, and she knew the years spent trapped in this cesspool of nobility were about to end. After today, she would finally be free. Free from the role of the beautiful, silent wife, free from Ivan, free from his fool of a mother.

“They will all become one with the abyss. Once this island belongs to us, my place on the council will be secured, and I will at last ascend. Oh, what a glorious day.”

The woman cackled, her laughter echoing through the chamber. She did not care if the nobles heard her. This was her moment. With one of the secret relics clutched in her hand, she had nothing to fear. She stepped forward at a slow, deliberate pace before speaking again. ʀÃƝȫ𝐁ËŞ

“Truly disgusting.”

The hall fell silent. Her words slid through the vast chamber like venom, silencing even the duke and freezing the nobles in place. Faces shifted from shock to confusion. Some shrank back instinctively, while others swelled with outrage at the audacity of a woman speaking so boldly in the duke’s presence.

“What is the meaning of this? Someone remove her at once!”

Ivan’s mother leaned in and whispered to the nobles nearby. One of them gave a sharp nod. Many did not recognize the woman in her new attire, but she did. A man stepped forward, reaching to seize the intruder’s wrist. Just as his fingers were about to close around her, he was struck.

A tentacle burst from her shadowed cloak, lashing out and hurling him against the stone wall with a heavy crack. The man’s eyes rolled back as he crumpled to the floor, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth. Gasps tore through the chamber. Some nobles stumbled back while others shrieked, their composure shattering like glass. A few guards surged forward, their blades flashing in the chandelier’s glow as a heavy darkness settled over the hall.

“Pathetic.”

The Arch Priestess did not flinch. She stood tall, her blindfolded gaze sweeping across the room. She was intoxicated by their fear, and her voice rang out to silence everyone.

“Pathetic creatures. You strut in your wealth, drown yourselves in wine, and call it power. But what are you really? Fattened lambs waiting for the butcher. You disgust me. Yet do not despair, for once you embrace the gifts of the Lord, you will all be saved.”

The nobles broke free of their trance and raised their voices in protest. Guards lunged forward with swords ready. In answer, she lifted her hand. The small obelisk she held blazed with light, runes spiraling across its surface. A strange hum shook the very bones of those present before bursting outward in a pulse of unseen force.

*THRUM.*

The wave slammed through the hall like a thunderclap, resonating with multiple sound waves that came from other directions. Nobles froze mid-breath, crystal goblets trembling in their hands, mouths parted in half-formed cries. Guards halted mid-strike, their blades hovering just short of her robes, every muscle bound by invisible chains. Even the Duke stiffened, his proud stance crumbling as he collapsed to the floor.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Only the faint sound of the obelisk lingered, resonating through the chamber like the heartbeat of some vast, unseen creature.

“Good. That is better.”

Her tone softened, mockingly sweet, as though she were addressing frightened children. She smoothed her sleeves, her cruel smile widening.

“You have lived too long in your golden cages, thinking yourselves untouchable. But your laughter, your schemes, your titles… they mean nothing. Soon, you will all join us in the eternal abyss. You will dream forever, as all must, and your hollow empire will be forgotten.”

She strode among the frozen nobles, trailing her fingers across their stiff shoulders and rigid cheeks. Wherever she touched, their flesh quivered grotesquely, as if resisting some unseen corruption.

“Some of you may struggle, but it is meaningless before the great Lord of the Abyss. His descent cannot be stopped. Once we are united, your pride, your lineage, and all your wealth will be reduced to nothing.”

Her words dripped like sweet poison, but none could answer. They could not protest or agree. They were caught in an illusion, helpless, waiting for her to finish her task. From within a spatial item, she drew a jagged dagger shaped like a black tentacle, its hilt adorned with a blinking eye. Her first target was the Duke. Even bound by the sacred relic, his strength remained dangerous. He had to die.

The Arch Priestess raised the dagger high, her shadow stretching across the marble floor. Her laughter rang through the hall, echoing against the frozen forms of the nobles. She savored the silence and the helplessness of those who had once sneered at her. Every noble belonged to her now. Soon, they would be infected and truly claimed by the abyss.

“Do you see, my lord of the abyss?”

She whispered, her violet eyes blazing beneath the mask.

“They are yours already. And I, your chosen hand, will be remembered as the one who opened the gate and began it all.”

She spun across the dance floor, brushing into the motionless nobles and laughing when they toppled. Her twisted smile widened as she surrendered herself to victory. The Arch Priestess spun with manic delight, her abyssal robes swirling, her dagger flashing in the light of the chandeliers. Then she stopped, her laughter breaking off, as she noticed something.

“Was that person always standing there?”

A lone figure in a strange mask stood somewhere they shouldn’t, as she was almost certain he had been elsewhere moments ago. It was the knight of the fool called Arthur, the same man who had defeated the greater fool Ivan. She had to admit that he was strong, perhaps even capable of becoming an abyssal priest. Yet she could not understand why he stood here when he should have been trapped elsewhere.

“The bastard’s dog? Am I imagining things?”

She muttered as she stepped toward him.

The man gave no reply. He stood as still as stone, like all the others ensnared by the relic’s illusion. Everything should have been fine, yet her instincts whispered that something was wrong. Her grip tightened on the dagger as she approached with cautious curiosity.

“Resisting the secret relic is not something someone at this level should be capable of.”

She spoke while pressing the dark blade against his cheek. She drew it slowly to the side, carving a shallow gash. Blood surged and ran down his skin, but he did not move, confirming to her that he was caught within the illusion.

“I should not doubt the Lord’s miracles.”

There was no reason to remain, so she turned away, and her gaze shifted back to her true target, the Duke. Soon she was taking a few steps forward, but then froze. This time it was not a hunch. This was real. Her senses screamed. She was in danger.

Without thinking, she swung her dagger at something behind her. As she spun around, the man with a wound on his cheek blocked her strike. Her wrist was caught firmly in his palm, a clear testament to his strength. Yet this was not what held her attention. It was his other hand that glowed with a bright light. Something was forming there, something that resembled armor made of obsidian.

“How did…!”

Before she could finish, a punch crashed into her face. The obsidian fist struck her cheek with a sound like shattering porcelain. Her flawless, pale skin cracked apart, and she was hurled through the air. Fragments of her face mask scattered as she flew, revealing the truth beneath her beauty. It had never been her real face but a lifelike mask concealing the being hidden underneath.

Her body slammed into the wall with a heavy thud, sending dust and broken stone raining down. For a moment, she did not rise. Her abyssal robes writhed like snakes in agony, their tendrils curling inward as if to shield her injured form. Slowly, she pushed herself upright, breathing in ragged gasps and unable to comprehend the situation.

“Y-you…”

The Arch Priestess touched her face with trembling fingers. The porcelain mask that had concealed her for years was splitting apart, shards falling one by one. Beneath the broken pieces lay not the beauty she flaunted in court but the twisted visage of a withered crow. Her skin was dry and gnarled, stretched tight over sharp bones. Her nose jutted down like a beak, casting shadow over a mouth stretched unnaturally wide and filled with blackened teeth. Her violet eyes still burned fiercely, but they were sunken into a grotesque husk.

“A witch?”

The man’s voice echoed through the grand hall. She glared at him, biting her lip until her sharpened teeth drew thick black blood.

“Impossible. How could you resist the holy relic?”

Her voice cracked into a scream, spittle and blood spraying from her mouth. Where it landed on the marble floor, it hissed and smoked, filling the hall with a foul stench.

“You mean this thing? Quite easily.”

“How did you!?”

She looked down at her hand. Just moments before, the secret relic had been within her grasp, but now it was in his. His body shimmered and shifted as radiant light filled the hall, until a massive suit of dark armor enveloped him completely.

“Give it back.”

“Sure. Here you go.”

To her surprise, the man tossed the obelisk toward her. She lunged forward and snatched it out of the air with superhuman speed, clutching it as tenderly as a newborn. But something was wrong. The abyssal magic that had once pulsed from it was gone. The occult runes no longer answered her call. The relic was silent, deactivated.

Her eyes darted back to him, but he had already moved. He now stood beside the bastard. At first, she did not understand what he intended, but then something impossible happened. Arthur Valerian awoke.

“Inconceivable…”

Her faith in the abyssal cult’s magic and relics had never wavered, yet two people had now resisted their power. The truth became undeniable. This man was the cause of everything. Kovak, whom she had sent to investigate, had never returned, and his fate remained unknown. The growing presence of the Solarian Church in Albrook had seemed suspicious, but she had assumed it was related to the sacred beast that had appeared there. The disappearance of the cultists who pursued that anomaly had never been explained, until now.

She was staring at the answer. The man before her was not only responsible for the relic’s deactivation but also for the loss of their foothold in Reeka. Her withered lips curled back in a snarl, black blood dribbling from the corners of her mouth. The Arch Priestess’s skeletal hands gripped the useless relic until cracks ran along its surface. She trembled with rage, and her skinny frame started to expand.

“You dare… You dare strip me of my Lord’s gift?”

Her voice had changed; it was no longer the voice of the duchess’s daughter-in-law, but the cracked screeching of something ancient and vile…