Ludger dodged a clumsy shield bash and countered with a palm strike to the soldier’s chest plate, lting a rune directly beneath his glove as the explosion sent the man pinwheeling backward.
BOOM.
Smoke and sparks scattered. Another garden tree caught fire. Ludger pivoted on one foot, swept around the final soldier, and knocked him flat with a low spin. Before the man could recover, Ludger planted his palm against the center of the armor, the rune humming beneath his glove.
The soldier froze, terror shaking him. Ludger let the blast go.
BOOM.
The armored figure was catapulted into the burning hedges, armor glowing bright red as its runes flickered violently before dying.
Ludger straightened slowly, breath steady despite the rising heat. Flas curled around him gently, mist turning into steam at his feet. The battlefield lay in chaos, burning plants, shattered shields, smoking bodies.
He eyed the fallen soldiers with quiet disappointnt. Not warriors. Engineers. Probably techs who rely on runic loadouts to fight. That explains the strange mana signatures… and why they break so easily.
The realization didn’t comfort him. If this was the disposable first layer… Then whatever guarded Verk directly was going to make the garden fight look like a warm-up.
From the highest room of the manor, the private observatory chamber lined with polished copper plates and mana-conductive stone, Councilor Verk stood before a wide crystal-pane window and watched the chaos unfolding below.
Smoke rolled across the gardens like storm clouds trapped beneath the night sky. Mist twisted in unnatural swirls, carried by the faint tug of soone’s wind magic. And through all of that murk, flashes of red-orange light pulsed like miniature sunbursts.
The explosions were small, controlled, precise. Too precise. Verk adjusted the runic glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. Thin blue inscriptions lit up across the lenses, isolating mana signatures and highlighting bursts of power. The scene sharpened imdiately as the enchantnts filtered out the fog.
He saw a cloaked figure dart between armored guards, moving so quickly the runes struggled to keep his outline stable. Every ti the figure’s palm struck a shield or chest plate, a concentrated rune-flash followed, and another guard was hurled across the garden like a rag doll.
One blow landed directly into a raised shield. The impact blood into a molten crater, the soldier’s stance crumpling instantly. Verk murmured, voice calm and almost bored.
“…Interesting.”
He tilted his head slightly, narrowing his eyes. The runic cloak the intruder wore was unmistakably local, crafted by League artificers. Yet the person wearing it didn’t move like an engineer or craftsman. No gear reliance. No hesitation. No fear of recoil.
The explosion rune detonations should have scorched the attacker’s hands. Should have torn ligants. Should have at least produced a flinch. Yet the figure moved as if pain didn’t exist, launching another strike, fingers snapping forward with surgical precision, detonating another controlled blast into an armored soldier’s chest. Verk’s eyes followed every motion, his expression unreadable.
“That technique…” he muttered. “And that mana signature… crude in refinent, but overwhelming in density. Not natural for an engineer. Not natural for a normal warrior, either.”
He placed one hand behind his back, the other joining it slowly. The position brought a faint smile to his lips, one of detached academic interest rather than concern.
“So,” he murmured softly, almost amused, “soone finally connected the dots.”
For years he had operated in the shadows, bridging the corruption between the Velis League and the Empire’s noble houses, funneling draughts and illegal weaponry across borders, weakening key regions with perfectly placed sabotage, and helping the Rodericks slowly replace the Empire’s authority with their own shadow governance.
All done quietly. Cleanly. With no loose ends. Or so he had thought. He watched another blast shake the courtyard, one of his heavy runic soldiers sent flying into the burning hedges. He didn’t frown. He didn’t tense. If anything, Verk looked almost… satisfied.
“Whoever you are,” he said quietly, as if speaking to the figure far below, “you’re not acting for gold, power, or vengeance. No… this is too deliberate. Too clinical. You ca to erase sothing.”
His eyes sharpened behind the glowing runic lenses.
“And that ans you’re after .”
The councilor rubbed his chin with asured detachnt, the gesture calm enough to belong to a man observing a chess match rather than a siege on his ho. After all these years of careful work, soone competent had finally made a move against him. Not a rogue thug. Not a rival councilor. Not a political opponent.
Soone… different. He breathed out slowly, unbothered.
“Now then,” Verk whispered, straightening a bit as another explosion lit the mist below. “How should I handle a threat bold enough to walk into my ho?”
The question wasn’t frantic. It was curious. Analytical. Almost excited.
Ludger shook out his hand after blasting the last runic guard, fingers trembling from the recoil. Even with Fire Overdrive still simring under his skin, the nerves in his palm throbbed in protest. The explosion rune wasn’t ant for repeated point-blank use, every ti it detonated, the force crawled up his bones like a hamr blow. He’d been healing as he went, flashes of Healing Touch nding fractures and keeping his fingers attached, but deep burns were another matter.
The skin along his knuckles was already raw. His fingertips were split. His joints ached from the constant micro-fracturing. He hissed quietly, not from fear, not even from hesitation, but from irritation.
“Too wasteful,” he muttered under his breath. “Should’ve brought so gloves for fire magic.”
He didn’t have ti to dwell on it. The ground trembled as dozens of armored footsteps rushed in from across the manor grounds. Golems moved in the distance. Human voices barked orders through the mist. Mana signatures surged from every direction.
Kaela and Maurien were both draining themselves to keep the environnt unstable. Ludger could feel their mana signatures thinning. They didn’t have long.
He had to finish this, fast. Unfortunately… or perhaps fortunately, he wouldn’t need to search for his final target.
Heavy, rhythmic footsteps echoed from deep inside the manor, then grew louder with unnatural tallic resonance. Sothing was approaching, each step pulsing with a perfect, refined mana pattern, like gears clicking together inside a giant machine.
Ludger tensed, dropping into a low stance. A split second later, the manor’s front doors didn’t just open, they detonated outward, blasted off their hinges by a controlled burst of mana. Shards of reinforced wood scattered across the garden, clattering across the burning ground and vanishing into the mist.
Through the smoke and drifting sparks, a tall figure erged.
A man in his mid-forties, hair combed back, posture perfectly straight, wearing only the underlay of a formal vest, but runic plates snapped into place around him piece by piece, assembling themselves with the smooth precision of a masterwork construct.
Shoulder guards locked in with a hiss of mana. Gauntlets clamped over his forearms with a tallic click. Chest plate shimred before sealing itself shut. A suit of full runic armor built itself onto his body as he walked.
Ludger felt the mana pressure imdiately, steady, cold, disciplined. Whoever this was, he wasn’t another engineer wearing combat gear. This one knew how to fight. The man stopped ten ters away, studying Ludger through the haze like soone examining an exotic weapon. Then, to Ludger’s mild annoyance, he smiled.
“Well,” he said conversationally, voice smooth and confident, “I suppose you must be the one making all this noise.”
Ludger didn’t move. The man gave him a courteous little nod, as if greeting a guest at a formal banquet.
“I imagine introductions are in order.” He placed one hand on his chest, polite and composed even with flas and corpses around them. “Councilor Verk of the Velis League.”
Ludger’s eyes narrowed behind his mask. Verk’s gaze brightened with interest.
“And you,” Verk added, tone warm and disturbingly calm, “seem to be the specter tearing through my garden. A pleasure to et you, whoever you are.”
He glanced at the lted shield embedded in the ground nearby.
“I must say… your work is remarkable.”
Verk stepped forward, boots crunching over scorched grass and shattered tal. He didn’t rush, he didn’t need to. The calm confidence in his posture said everything.
His eyes drifted across the devastation Ludger had caused.
Five runic soldiers, each ard with gear worth more than a wealthy rchant’s yearly revenue, lay scattered across the garden like discarded toys. Shields lted. Armor twisted. Several of the fallen still smoked where explosion runes had detonated inside their chest plates. Verk exhaled slowly, almost thoughtfully.
“Quite the display,” he murmured.
Then, without warning, he kicked the ground. A sharp burst of mana erupted from his heel,an advanced wind technique, and the entire courtyard detonated with a controlled shockwave.
FWOOOM—!
Dust blasted outward in a clean ring. Smoke was shoved aside, scattering like frightened birds. What mist remained warped violently at the edges before it was forced back beyond the garden.
In less than a second, the battlefield beca clear, open, visible, stripped of camouflage. Ludger stood exposed in the center of it. Verk’s runic glasses flickered, analyzing the scene now unobstructed. The corpses, the lted tal, the cracked foundations of the manor’s outer walls. He clicked his tongue in mild irritation.
“My elite guards,” he said as he surveyed the broken remains. “Equipped with so of the finest runic armor Coria can manufacture. Hand-trained by senior instructors, close to guildmaster level in combat ability… and you dispatched them alone.”
He rubbed his chin, expression neither angry nor fearful, rely calculating.
“That is… inconvenient. And expensive.”
His gaze shifted back to Ludger.
“Do you have any idea how much their equipnt cost?” he asked with a smile. “I could fund ten small academies with the mana cores embedded in one of their shields. Your little tantrum might cost as much as a new laboratory.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“Perhaps if I extract a few answers from you… I can at least justify the loss.”
As he spoke, the final piece of his armor floated out from the shattered doorway, hovering beside him like a steel phantom. The helt.
It snapped forward and unfolded with elegant chanical precision. A curved faceplate slid upward, while overlapping rune-etched plates spread like petals around the skull. Lines of blue mana pulsed through transparent runic channels carved into the tal, lighting it from within. Then the pieces collapsed together, sealing around his head in a smooth, seamless motion.
CHHK—SHRRRRK.
The visor locked in place, dark, reflective, with thin runic lines branching across it like a spiderweb of glowing circuits. The armor humd softly as it synchronized with Verk’s mana, the runes across his gauntlets and chest plate flaring to life.
It was no ordinary combat suit. This was a military-grade, academy-forbidden, fully adaptive runic exosuit, sothing only so could afford or legally wield.
The plates were shaped like interlocking scales, giving his silhouette a sleek, predatory presence. Mana-conductive lines ran down his limbs, bright as veins. His gauntlets held reinforced knuckle guards capable of channeling elental blasts. His boots contained shock-absorption runes and propulsion sigils, allowing for imnse jumps or sudden bursts of speed.
A mantle-like spine guard unfolded behind him, glowing faintly as heat dispersal runes activated. Finally, the visor flashed once, bright blue, before dimming to a dangerous, focused glow. Verk flexed his fingers experintally, the armor responding like a second skin.
“Now…” he said, voice muffled but clear through the runic amplifier, “shall we see what you’re really capable of?”
The courtyard fell silent. Only the faint hum of Verk’s armor resonated in the air, steady, controlled, and deadly.
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