Chapter 102: A Chance Encounter
With Lano—that maid who looked so dependable—there, Cosette probably would not be bored. And as for Princess Cecilia… since a bargain had already been struck, then at least on the surface, she ought to keep her promise and make sure nothing happened to Cosette within the academy.
At that thought, Ryan felt slightly more at ease.
He finished the last bit of fish, carefully extinguished the remaining embers of the fire, and left only a faint red glow of coals to preserve the bare minimum of warmth and light within the rock shelter.
Within the range of the warning array, he found the driest spot, one with the rock wall at his back, spread out a moisture-proof cloth, and lay down fully clothed.
The longsword rested at his side, its cloth-wrapped hilt within easy reach.
Outside the shelter, the forest had completely sunk into night.
The wind, the creek, the distant cries and crawling sounds of nocturnal creatures—all of it wove together into a deep, primal backdrop.
Occasionally, dark shapes swept past the entrance, only to be blocked or startled away by the invisible mbrane of Mana.
Ryan closed his eyes, and his breathing gradually beca long and even. Yet every nerve in his body remained alert to a certain degree.
The lingering warmth of the campfire baked against the stone wall, and shadows slowly writhed in the final traces of faint light.
Nothing happened through the night.
When the first thin thread of bluish-gray dawn light struggled through the dense canopy above the forest and seeped into the rock shelter, Ryan was already awake.
There was not the slightest haze of sleep in his gray-blue eyes. They were as clear and cold as the surface of a frozen lake.
A new day had begun.
By the ti that bluish-gray morning light stabbed with difficulty through the forest mist, Ryan had already erased every trace of his stay in the rock shelter and set out once more on the path of exploration.
This day’s search carried a clear purpose.
The Life-Preserving Rune Stone continued sensing the ripples scattered throughout the forest, but he was no longer blindly pursuing quantity.
Whenever a new resonance ca, he first identified the attribute of its fluctuation. If it belonged to a type he had already acquired, then unless it lay directly along his route or in an exceptionally favorable position, he no longer made a special effort to retrieve it.
The process went more smoothly than he had expected.
One crimson rune had been embedded in the center of a charred dead log split by lightning. It felt warm in his hand, as if a dancing fla had been sealed within it.
Another pale-cyan rune hung from the top of a small wind-eroded rock hollow. It could only be taken down safely by using airflow manipulation. It was so light that he could scarcely feel its weight, and only the subtle whirling current at his fingertips proved it was really there.
As the sun climbed higher and the moisture in the woods began to rise, forming hazy shafts of light, Ryan found several more runes of differing attributes one after another: a bright violet one carrying the faint sensation of rumbling thunder, a pure white one icy to the touch with snowflake-like crystals sealed inside it, and a dark gray one as heavy as lead, with obscure, difficult-to-read fluctuations.
When he placed a rune that emitted a gentle milky-white glow—one that unconsciously cald the mind—into the insulated layer, his movent paused slightly.
The eleventh.
Within the insulated compartnt, the waves of eleven completely different attributes shone against one another like a miniature elental cycle.
There seed to be so subtle connection and balance between them. Once placed together, their overall sense of completeness grew stronger and stronger. It even made the flow of Mana in the bearer’s body smoother by the slightest margin.
But that was all.
It still lacked the most crucial piece. Or rather, it lacked the core that could unify and activate those eleven independent fluctuations.
Ryan sat down against an ancient tree and activated the Life-Preserving Rune Stone once again.
His consciousness spread out like a net, catching every ripple of Mana throughout the forest.
The clear points of resonance still existed, but without exception, every attribute returned to him overlapped with one of the eleven types he already possessed.
He could even roughly determine that at least three of them were fire-aspected, two were water-aspected, and one was wind-aspected… all duplicates.
Not only that, but by using the surveyor’s rough record of his route and his own sense of direction, he had already sketched out an approximate map of the area he had explored—about eighty percent of the total area designated for the assessnt.
Within that eighty percent, he had encountered fresh traces of other students at least seven tis, caught sight of human figures in the distance four tis, and even dealt with two separate groups of fools arrogant enough to try treating him as prey.
After seeing his face or experiencing the swiftness and efficiency of his counterattacks, every last one of them had retreated in panic.
Among part of the student body, the na Ryan Velt seed to be steadily evolving into so naless horror.
And yet even so, that final, distinct ripple had never appeared.
Did it not exist anywhere within this area? Or was it that its mode of existence was fundantally different from the previous eleven?
Ryan unscrewed his waterskin and took a drink, his gaze falling on the stream murmuring not far away.
The sunlight approaching noon filtered through the much thinner forest cover and scattered fine scales of gold across the water’s surface.
He selected a relatively level, shaded stretch of bank as a temporary resting place, took out his rations, and prepared to restore so strength while also giving his tightly focused mind a brief chance to loosen.
He had only taken two bites of the hard, dry jerky when he heard deliberately lightened, yet still clumsy footsteps coming from the woods on the far bank, along with the rustling of clothing scraping against bushes.
Ryan stopped chewing. His eyelids lifted slightly, and his gaze turned toward the source of the sound.
Two figures erged from the woods on the opposite bank, looking sowhat bedraggled.
The girl walking in front had platinum-blond hair tied into a high ponytail, though it had already begun to co loose, with several strands sticking to the sweat-damp edges of her forehead.
Her light-blue armor, made of obviously fine material, was spattered with quite a bit of mud and grass debris. Her ice-blue eyes were filled with exhaustion, yet she was still forcing herself to maintain a posture that refused to show weakness. Only the slight tightness of her lips and the faint pallor of her face betrayed that she was not nearly as steady as she appeared.
Ryan recognized her quickly.
Lillian Rosedale, the only daughter of that southern marquis whose house was fad for ice magic and an ancient knightly tradition.
She was fairly well known among the third years. Part of that ca from her background and her supposedly considerable ability. The other part ca from her almost universally known idol—the number one admirer and fangirl of Eleanor Astrea, daughter of the Sword Duke.
Ever since Ryan had defeated Eleanor in practical class, this young lady’s gaze toward him had never once been friendly. Barton had once casually ntioned during a break in training that the girl was proud and rather awkward by temperant, though she trained quite diligently. Her style followed her family tradition: ice magic paired with a light sword.
Half a step behind her followed the commoner boy nad Rex.
Ryan also had so impression of him. It was said that he had fought his way into Saint Roland all the way from a border village, relying purely on exceptional physical ability and a battle instinct sharp enough to force open the gates. A true hotheaded fool.
One sleeve of his training uniform had been ripped open, and there were faint traces of dried blood there.
He gripped a standard academy-issued broad-bladed greatsword tightly in his hand, its tip hanging slightly low.
At that mont, both of them still bore obvious signs of combat and difficult travel, and their breathing had not yet steadied. They had clearly just gone through a hard struggle and were planning to co to the creek to fetch water and rest.
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