A week had passed since Arthur arrived at the village, and despite his efforts, he felt as though he was getting nowhere. Every morning, he left the village before dawn, trudging through the snow-covered landscape, following the vague directions given to him by the villagers. But no matter how hard he searched, the ruins remained elusive.
With every step, the hum of anticipation had grown louder in his chest. The villagers had spoken of ruins. They spoke of the forgotten treasures and history of Ashlynd, ancient relics imbued with powers that could hopefully change the course of his future.
Having something like a map would be a huge help, but Arthur knew there were no guarantees in the life he led. No certainty that what he was seeking would still be here. The land was treacherous, time having weathered the ruins into little more than forgotten whispers in the snow. Still, something urged him on.
The sound of his boots crunching over the frozen ground was the only noise, his thoughts drowned out by the swishing of his cloak and the soft hiss of wind through the trees. His fingers drummed against the handle of his sword, the familiar rhythm soothing the jitter in his chest. He wasn't here for gold—he was here for something far more valuable.
Magic.
Arthur's obsession with magic could only be matched by his obsession with weapons. Growing up, he had spent countless hours crafting blades, each one a weapon that any normal soldier would be lucky to have. But it was never enough for him. Weapons were powerful, yes, but they were limited. There were things magic could do that steel simply couldn't alone. Magic could amplify strength, manipulate the elements, heal wounds, even control time if one was capable enough. It was the ultimate power—one he needed to understand, one he craved more than anything.
The path through the forest opened into a clearing, and there it stood. The ruins. They were far older than anything he'd imagined—towering stone walls, half-collapsed, with ancient runes carved deep into their surfaces. The stone was worn, covered with creeping moss and ivy, but the power still emanated from it, almost as if the ruin was alive in some forgotten way.
Arthur's pulse quickened. His hands itched for the sword at his side. This was it. The thing he'd sought. The very reason he had left home and braved the unknown. His gut told him that he would find something good here. The place looked like it hadn't been touched in hundreds of years. Which, considering his location in a middle of nowhere and the cold that would have sent away any sane people, odds are it really has been that long.
The history of Ashlynd was scarce, it's lands inhabited a great many tribes, from humans, elves, dwarfs, beastmen and quite a few more. All that anyone really knows is that a great war happened a long time in the past, killing off the majority of intelligent races, then monsters began to rapidly mutate and pushed the weakened races back into the corners of the lands.
Arthur sighed at the thought of being able to learn the famed smithing techniques of the dwarves. He didn't exactly have the best source of information, but as far as he knew, no one had seen a dwarf in hundreds of years. But now was not the time to think about such things.
He stepped forward cautiously, inspecting the perimeter for any signs of danger. This place looked like it was once a grand tower. But it was covered in cracks that ran through the symbols carved on the outside of the stone. Arthur knew enough about runes after writing them enough times that all the runes are broken.
Arthur knelt and placed his palm against the cold stone. He then brought out a pen and paper to try to copy down the rune as best he could, considering they were on the outside walls they probably had some sort of defensive power.
The door was blocked—large, ancient stones had fallen into place over the entrance, making it nearly impossible to get through. The stones were massive, far too heavy for him to move alone.
"Of course," Arthur muttered. "Nothing's ever easy."
He set to work, gritting his teeth as he shoved the stones aside, one at a time, his muscles straining with the effort. He knew it would take time, but he didn't mind. Time, after all, was nothing compared to what could be waiting for him on the other side. And every second he spent getting closer to his goal only made the fire in his chest burn brighter.
When the last stone finally shifted, just enough for him to slip through, Arthur felt a rush of triumph. He stepped inside, sword drawn, the blade flickering faintly in the dim light.
The air was stale, thick with the scent of dust and decay, and something older—something Arthur couldn't quite place. It was dark, but his eyes soon adjusted to the gloom. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books and scrolls, most of them so worn and faded that they were unreadable. A few seemed to have survived the ravages of time, but there was no telling what knowledge they might hold. Arthur's heart skipped a beat as he scanned the shelves, but his thoughts were interrupted by the faint sound of something... shifting.
He gripped his sword tighter.
"Something's not right," Arthur murmured, scanning the room.
It didn't take long for him to realize what was wrong. The faint scraping sound echoed again, this time louder. It was coming from the far corner of the room, where a large, rusty figure began to emerge from the shadows.
A golem.
Arthur's heart raced. He'd read about these creatures before—constructed of metal, powered by ancient magic. They were the sentinels, the protectors of ruins like this one. And from the looks of it, this one had been standing guard for centuries, if not longer. Its rusted armor creaked as it moved, and its massive sword dragged against the floor with a sound that made Arthur's stomach churn.
There was no time to waste. The golem lunged at him, its rusted sword raised high.
Arthur's instincts kicked in. He sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the strike, and countered with a slash of his own. The blade of his sword burned brightly, a flash of orange as the Igni rune flared to life. The superheated blade met the golem's armor with a deafening clang, sparks flying, but the creature didn't falter. It swiveled, its movements slow and deliberate but powerful.
"Damned thing's stubborn," Arthur muttered to himself, his heart pounding in his chest.
Another swing, this time aiming for his head. He ducked beneath it, rolling to the side, his sword cutting through the air with another fiery slash. It landed, but only left a shallow gash in the golem's armor.
"Come on, think!" Arthur's mind raced. He'd read about these things. The core—the magic core—was often hidden somewhere in their chest. It was the heart of the construct, the source of its power.
He waited for the golem to swing again, this time aiming for his legs. He ducked beneath the strike, his sword coming down hard, aiming directly for the chest. With a grunt, Arthur thrust the blade into the heart of the golem, the blade sinking deep into the rusted metal.
The golem let out a screech, a grinding, mechanical noise, before it collapsed to the floor, its metal body shuddering violently.
Arthur's breath came in ragged gasps, the adrenaline still surging through his veins. He wiped the sweat from his brow and turned, only to see more figures emerging from the shadows. More golems.
He cursed under his breath. This was going to be a long night.
But Arthur didn't hesitate. His sword flared with flame once more as he engaged the next golem, then the next, then the next. One by one, he took them down, each battle leaving him more exhausted than the last, but his resolve never wavered.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last golem collapsed to the floor with a deafening crash. The room fell silent, save for Arthur's ragged breathing.
He stood there, chest heaving, his sword still glowing hot. His thoughts raced as he took a moment to collect himself.
"Damn... that was close," Arthur muttered, wiping blood from his arm. "But it was worth it."
Then, his eyes flicked to the far corner of the room he found himself in, where piles of gold coins gleamed faintly in the dim light.
But gold was not what caught his attention. No, it was a book, resting on top of a pile of jewels. The cover was faded, but Arthur could make out the words embossed in gold:
Runes for Dummies.
His heart skipped a beat. This was it. This was what he had come for. He stepped forward, hands trembling, and pulled the book from its resting place.
"This is it," Arthur whispered, his voice filled with awe. "This is perfect."