Arthur stood by the edge of the forest, looking out at the desolate landscape before him. The sky above was ashen, the clouds heavy with the weight of a forgotten war, casting a dull, oppressive shadow over the land. He could feel it in his bones, the weight of time that had passed since he first left home, the years spent surviving, learning, and growing. Yet there was still that gnawing feeling at the back of his mind: the fear that he wasn't enough. That somehow, no matter how far he pushed himself, no matter how much he trained, he would always fall short.
He reached up, brushing his fingers against the gold amulet that hung around his neck. It had become more than just a trinket over the months. It was his anchor, the one thing that had kept him grounded when everything else felt uncertain. He knew it was meant to warn him of danger, to alert him to the presence of threats, but it had also become a symbol of his journey, a reminder of how far he had come since leaving his village at the age of fourteen.
Back then, Arthur had been nothing more than a blacksmith's apprentice, longing for adventure, for something more than the monotonous grind of life in the village. His weapons included his knives, his sword, and even the greatsword he had taken from the golems. These tools symbolized his desire for something greater. But now, with years of mercenary experience and the last few months of blood, sweat, and near-constant training under his belt, he had begun to feel like he wasn't far behind after all. Still, the comparison to those nobles who were born into magic and trained from childhood gnawed at him. They had tutors and all sorts of resources dedicated to honing their abilities. Arthur had none of that. His magic came from a single old book and runes carved into anything he could.
Was that enough? Could he really make it to the capital and stand on the same ground as those mages who had spent their lives in training?
He clenched his fists, trying to push the doubt away. There wasn't time for this kind of thinking. There was only what lay ahead, only the next step. Only the fight.
For the past two months after killing the Ironclaw Behemoth, his training had focused primarily on mastering the new rune Zephyros, the wind rune. It had become his most versatile tool, a rune that allowed him to move faster and maneuver with greater agility. But there was a price to pay. Zephyros was exhausting. Every burst of wind that propelled him forward drained his body, took its toll on his muscles, and made his bones ache. He had learned to adapt, pushing through the fatigue to push the limits of his body. Every time he thought he couldn't go any further, he found a way to dig deeper.
The air around him was still for a moment as he prepared himself. His boots were laced tightly, the runes of Zephyros carved deep into the leather. The Igni rune in his sword glowed faintly. He tested the grip of his gloves, feeling the familiar Thaelios rune etched into the palms. The rune helped him maintain control over his weapons when the wind pulled at him, when the terrain shifted beneath him, or when his body wanted to fly in a dozen directions at once.
His knives hung at his waist, the Lumen and Virelith runes gleaming on their blades. The sharpness rune had been a huge boon, and he could put that on any weapon with great results. With Virelith, the blade could slice through anything with a smoothness that made each strike feel effortless, like an extension of his arm. The Lumen rune sadly wasn't the most useful; he couldn't get the brightness to be blinding enough to be combat effective.
Still, despite all the preparation, there were days when Arthur felt like he was barely holding it all together. The weight of the weapons, the magic, and the constant demand to be better was exhausting. He spent hours each day carving runes into different materials, testing their limits, and seeing what worked and what didn't. Metal was easy enough, but leather and cloth were different. He had learned that the runes wouldn't take well to them unless he had the right tools, and even then, they sometimes took longer to carve.
Even the wind, the wind he had come to value as a tool, wasn't always on his side. Sometimes it felt like it was mocking him, flying just out of reach and eluding him when he needed it most.
But today, today felt different. He could feel the wind stirring in the trees, pulling at his hair and whispering in his ears. His focus sharpened as he adjusted his stance. He wasn't going to let anything distract him this time.
He had learned to work with Zephyros, to turn its energy into something that could complement his future fights. He had carved the rune into his boots and his sword, allowing the bursts of wind to enhance his movements. With each gust, he could feel the tension in his legs, the strain on his muscles. But he pushed through it, focusing on the goal: the capital. He had to make it there to prove himself worthy of the mages and nobles who would surely look down on him.
Arthur took a deep breath, feeling the wind rise around him, his body responding to the call. The runes etched into his equipment and his weapons began to hum with energy, absorbing ambient mana to power themselves. The world sped up, each movement becoming more deliberate and precise. With a single motion, he activated the Zephyros rune in his boots, and the wind burst from beneath him, propelling him forward.
His boots caught the ground, sending him into a sprint. The wind whipped past him, his body moving faster than it ever had before. The sword in his hand felt lighter than air, the Igni rune glowing faintly as he sliced through the air in front of him. He could hear the wind howling in his ears and feel the burn in his muscles as he pushed through the movement.
But even with all the progress and all the improvement, there was always the nagging thought in the back of his mind. Was it enough? How far behind was he?
Arthur's fingers found the gold amulet at his neck, its surface cool from the morning air. He almost didn't notice when it began to warm against his skin, the heat a gradual but unmistakable signal. He paused, his gaze sharpening as he scanned the treeline ahead. The forest had fallen quiet. A faint pulse of tension gripped him, not fear exactly, but the undeniable awareness that something was out there.
His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, the familiar weight steadying him. "Alright then," he muttered to himself, his breath fogging in the cold air. "Let's see what you've got."
A rustling in the distance grew louder, the stillness of the snow and ash-laden forest disturbed by something heavy and fast. Arthur gripped the hilt of his sword, the Igni rune glowing faintly in response. His instincts screamed, and his body tensed as the treeline split open.
A pack of wolves emerged from the shadows, their two heads snarling in unison, jagged teeth glinting. Their matted fur rippled with muscle beneath, and their red, feral eyes fixed on him. These weren't ordinary wolves. Arthur had seen their kind before, months ago. Back then he won because he sneaked up on them.
Now was different.
Arthur exhaled and stepped forward. "Alright, then," he muttered, unsheathing his sword in a fluid motion. "You lot want a fight? Let's make it quick."
The wolves circled, their eyes glinting with hunger. There were too many of them, Arthur counted at least six, more than he was comfortable with. His grip tightened on his sword's hilt. He could feel the wind at his back, stirring the air, urging him to act, but he wasn't rushing. The key to winning a fight like this was control, and Arthur wasn't about to let them rush him into a mistake.
He moved slowly at first, testing their reactions. The wolves tensed, their snouts twitching, and then they came for him. He could feel the pressure building, he had to stay focused and keep his mind sharp. He activated the Zephyros rune in his boots, and for a moment, the world seemed to shift. His body surged forward, but he controlled it. With a swift sidestep, he dodged the first attack. A wolf's fangs snapped just inches from his face, but Arthur was already swinging.
His knives came flying from his waist, aiming for the closest wolf. The Lumen and Virelith runes etched into their blades glinted in the dim light as they sank into the wolf's side. It yelped, tumbling sideways, but before Arthur could register the victory, another wolf lunged at his back.
He spun, bringing his sword up to block the attack. The blade caught the wolf's jaws, and it recoiled, but not before managing to land a heavy blow against his side. The pain was sharp, but the Aegis rune flared to life, softening the blow just enough to keep him from losing his footing.
"Not today," he muttered, adjusting his stance.
He activated the Zephyros rune again, this time channeling it through his sword. The wind swirled around him, making the sword lighter, and the strikes faster. He swung it in a wide arc, catching another wolf across the chest. It yelped, retreating, but it wasn't enough to scare off the pack.
One of them, bolder than the others, came at him from the right. Arthur wasn't sure how he saw it coming, maybe it was just instinct, but he lashed out with his sword, pushing the wind around it to guide the strike. The wolf was fast, but not fast enough. The blow landed cleanly, and the wolf collapsed in a heap, its body twitching as it breathed its last.
The others hesitated, but only for a moment. A moment was all Arthur needed.
He pushed forward again, using the wind at his back to give him speed. He dodged another strike. His feet barely touched the ground before he was already on the move again, his boots pushing him into another burst of speed.
The remaining wolves weren't giving up, they circled, trying to herd him, to trap him. But Arthur wasn't about to be trapped. He waited, watching them closely, letting the wind guide his movements, feeling the heat of the Igni rune in his sword.
This was it.
One of the wolves lunged, and Arthur was ready. He ducked low, letting the wolf pass over his head, and swung his sword up in a diagonal arc, the flames roaring to life as the sword cut through the air. The wolf's fur ignited, and it howled in pain, leaping backward as its skin smoldered. The other wolves scattered for a moment, their confidence shaken.
"Come on, then," Arthur growled, his voice steady despite the pounding in his chest.
The wind roared as he activated Zephyros again, pushing himself toward the last wolf. With his sword raised, he thrust it forward, the flames dancing in the wind as they consumed the wolf in a burst of heat. It fell to the ground with a thud, no longer moving.
But there were still two left.
Arthur was breathing hard now, feeling the strain of each burst of wind, each strike, each movement. He could feel his muscles protesting, his mind starting to get clouded by fatigue, but he couldn't afford to slow down. Not yet.
The remaining wolves, sensing his exhaustion, moved in for the kill. They were clever, closing in from different angles, trying to trap him.
Arthur gritted his teeth. "Not today."
He swept his sword in front of him, using the wind to force the blade faster. The first wolf went down with a swift slash, but the second was faster. It leapt at his side, and Arthur barely had time to react. He brought his sword up, but it wasn't enough. The wolf's teeth sank into his arm, pain shooting through him.
The Aegis rune flared to life again, cushioning the blow, but the wolf still managed to tear through his sleeve. With a snarl, Arthur twisted, grabbing the wolf's head and forcing it away from his arm. The Bind rune on his gloves kicked in, and his grip on the wolf's skull tightened. He could feel its teeth scraping against his arm, but the hold was firm. With a roar, he slammed the wolf to the ground, driving the sword into its chest with a final, decisive strike.
The pack was finished.
Arthur stood, chest heaving, the adrenaline beginning to ebb. He couldn't quite wipe the sweat from his brow, his arm burned from the wound, but the Aegis rune had kept the worst of it at bay. The wind still swirled around him, carrying the faintest trace of his victory. He could feel the heat from his sword, the embers of the battle lingering in the air.
He looked down at the fallen wolves, his breath slow and steady as he took in the aftermath. "Yeah. That was enough."
The victory was hard-earned, but it was his. And for once, as the wind shifted around him, Arthur didn't doubt that maybe he wasn't as far behind as he thought.
He wiped the blood from his blade, the weight of his decision settling in. It was finally time for him to leave. There was nothing more for him here. The village had given him what he needed, but now, it was time to move on. The capital was waiting, and the next step was clear.
Turning his back on the wolves, Arthur started walking. He didn't look back. There was no need to.