Return of the Legendary Runesmith - Chapter 408

Chapter 408: Chapter 407- Comparison
Even inside the Time Chamber, Adrian didn’t have time to study witchcraft or learn more about the ancient creature.

Using these eight hours in the Time Chamber, he was going to prepare the brackets for the runestones, which would be later used to illuminate the plantations.

He has already thought of how to prepare the reflectors at a fast rate. He would take the help of the creators back in Ruby’s workshop.

Yes, there would be a requirement for too much movement since they all were in Grimvale. But that’s the only way he could have all those reflectors prepared in time so that he could install them tomorrow.

He hadn’t informed Ruby about it—both because he had been busy and also because Ruby had been moving around the nation frequently after the incident.

But since she had given him permission to use her workshop however he liked, he would use that privilege

But at the moment, he was focusing on the brackets.

The air inside the Time Chamber shimmered faintly with golden motes as Adrian stood before the furnace. Heat radiated from the molten core, painting his face in shifting shades of orange and crimson.

He grabbed a pair of tongs, pinched a chunk of raw steel ore, and dropped it into the roaring flame. The furnace hissed, swallowing the metal whole. Sparks flew like angry fireflies as the ore began to melt.

Adrian wiped the sweat on his brow with the back of his wrist. “Alright, melt faster… come on,” he muttered. The ore pulsed within the fire, slowly turning into a glowing puddle of silver.

When it reached the right viscosity, he pulled the crucible out and poured the molten metal onto the anvil. The liquid hissed against the cold surface, spitting steam. Adrian picked up the hammer, gripped it tight, and brought it down hard.

CLANG!

The strike rang across the chamber, echoing like a war cry.

Each blow was sharp, deliberate, and fueled with rhythm. Sparks burst and danced across the floor as he hammered the molten steel into shape. He folded the edges, curved the metal slightly, then struck again, his eyes reflecting the glow of the furnace.

His movements grew faster—clang, clang, clang!—until the air itself seemed to hum with energy. It wasn’t just smithing; it was like sculpting his will into metal.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he stopped. The steel bracket gleamed with a faint silver-blue sheen, sturdy yet beautiful, its edges clean and solid. Adrian dipped it into the barrel of cold water—sssshhhhh! Steam exploded upward, wrapping him in a white mist.

When it cleared, he lifted the bracket and smiled faintly. “Perfect.”

He turned toward the center of the chamber where the runestone hovered faintly above the floor, pulsing with restrained power. Kneeling, Adrian fixed the steel bracket against the stone base beneath it, securing the runestone in place.

The moment the metal touched the stone, a ripple of blue light ran across the bracket, binding it to the chamber’s enchantment. The faint hum of magic deepened, steady and sure.

Adrian leaned back on one knee, exhaling softly. “That should hold you steady now,” he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow. The air around him shimmered faintly with heat, the forge flames casting an orange glow across his face.

Just then, a familiar chime rang in his ears.

[Basic Blacksmithing: 10%]

[Ding!]

[The host has earned a reward.]

Adrian tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Oh? What is it this time?”

[A pair of heat-resistant glasses and gloves.]

[The reward is stored in the inventory.]

A satisfied smile curved his lips. “Now that’s something useful.”

He had been struggling for hours—the constant heat from the forge stinging his eyes and his old gloves doing little to protect his hands from the burn. Without wasting a moment, Adrian reached into his inventory and pulled out the newly acquired gear.

The round, dark-tinted glasses fit perfectly, and the world immediately seemed clearer, the harsh glare of molten metal dimmed to a tolerable glow. The gloves—thick, durable, and snug—absorbed the fiery heat completely, letting him feel only the gentle vibration of the hammer’s impact.

He flexed his fingers, nodding in approval. “Perfect.”

[Further advancing in the field of Independent Magic and Blacksmithing will grant the host more rewards.]

A grin spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with renewed drive. “That’s more like it, system.”

Rising to his feet, Adrian gripped the hammer once more. Sparks flew as steel met steel, the rhythmic clang echoing through the Time Chamber like a pulse.

….

[A few hours ago]

Far away from the Runebound Academy, deep between towering mountains, stretched a vast valley devoid of any towns or cities. The land itself seemed to reject life. Shadows clung to the jagged cliffs, and the constant rumble of thunder rolled across the dark sky.

The clouds were so thick that day and night had become indistinguishable—only a dim, cold light filtered through. At the center of that desolate valley stood a massive throne, carved from black stone and etched with runes that pulsed faintly with violet light.

The air was heavy, thick with mana that rippled through the ground like slow-moving waves. The atmosphere pressed against the skin, almost suffocating. Around the throne, hundreds of figures knelt in silence, their foreheads almost touching the cracked earth. Not a single soul dared to look up.

Beside the throne stood a tall man—slender yet imposing. His eyes were hidden behind dark glasses, and his hair, green as thick vines, framed his face like creeping roots. The faint shimmer of life energy surrounded him, and even the ground beneath his feet seemed to breathe with his presence.

This man was Abraham—an ancient being who had long transcended mortal boundaries. His power and wisdom placed him far beyond the reach of ordinary men, and yet, here he was… bowing.

He, the tormentor of Adrian, the same one who had once shaken kingdoms and defied death itself, now stood with his head lowered in obedience.

Before him sat the one who occupied the throne—shrouded in a mist so dense that even mana failed to pierce it.

Their form was only barely visible: a silhouette resting with an effortless air of authority, emanating pressure that could crush even the strongest of wills.

He was the same being who made Annabelle realize that no matter how far she had come, there would always be someone far beyond her reach.

A being born of forbidden sorcery—an immortal dethroned by his own brothers for rejecting the pact they swore to uphold.

He was none other than the fallen God, Nytharos.

“Quite the amusing bunch you’ve gathered,” the being muttered, his cold gaze fixed upon the violet-shrouded Acolytes—an army Abraham had spent years assembling and training.

And now, they finally had a purpose. A being to serve.

“I have trained them to follow orders without hesitation, my lord,” Abraham said, his tone humble yet proud.

Nytharos tilted his head slightly, a faint, unsettling smile forming. “How many among you can summon a Hollow creature?”

The question sent a shiver through the crowd.

Despite their vast numbers, only two raised their hands.

Nytharos chuckled darkly. “So much preparation… for what, exactly?”

Abraham exhaled, lowering his head. “My lord, forgive my boldness, but summoning a being from the Hollow Side demands surpassing one’s humanity… and abandoning all mortal constraints.”

“You make it sound grand,” Nytharos said, his tone mocking. “Back during the war, every Apostle and Acolyte possessed the strength to summon a Hollow creature.”

Abraham respectfully replied, “In those days, devotion alone was enough to reach that stage. But now… they need a catalyst to break free.”

A thousand years ago, devotion to a god was the key to transcendence—to rise beyond the limits of humanity.

That faith drove countless mortals to dedicate their lives to prayer, seeking divine blessings in return. The same held true for the Acolytes, even after Nytharos was cast out from the heavens.

But over time, the lingering shadow of Darkness spread like a plague, leaving deep scars upon the world—and upon faith itself.

The purity of devotion began to fade.

People turned their eyes inward, seeking strength through self-growth rather than divine trust. Training and battle replaced prayer and reverence.

And that is why, in this age, humanity stands far weaker than it did a thousand years ago.

Nytharos sneered before he got up.

“Pick ten people and give them my blood. Choose wisely since these ten would be following my direct orders.”

Abraham lowered his head, “As you command, my Lord.”

Nytharos looked at the sky, his eyes narrowed as he muttered, ‘Darkness has stirred…even though it was supposed to be locked inside the core.’

Despite being a fallen God who should be elated by the possibility of Chaos befalling mortal realms…Nytharos doesn’t want something so vile as Darkness to rise again.

No, not that thing.

Nytharos might be evil.

But that thing…it’s pure carnage.

°°°°°°°°°

A/N:- Thanks for reading.