Ancient Runes

Ancient Runes

The tiny silver-haired figure darted about like a lively hamster foraging everywhere.

Runestone revered bronze artifacts, and its Tomb Cellar held bronze armor passed down by generations of ancestors.

Most of it was tattered and worn, with even the youngest pieces dating back over a thousand years.

If handled carelessly, the rust-eaten armor would crumble apart.

It was the result of poor upkeep.

After a while, Aemon busied himself and found three sets of relatively intact Bronze Armor.

One had only a breastplate left, while the other two were missing arms and legs.

"Damaged magical items discovered. Magic Essence acquired: +5, +3, +5..."

Notifications with varying amounts sounded as the "Magic Essence Panel" appeared before him.

The Golden Funnel spun up and down, radiating a soft glow.

When it finally stopped, the panel changed: Essence Amount: 16.

"Why do they yield different amounts of essence?"

Panting from exhaustion, Aemon bent down and used his oil lamp to illuminate the armor.

The first set was relatively intact compared to the latter two. More "runes" were engraved across its bronze surface, forming circular patterns around the chest and wrists.

The set that yielded the least essence was covered in green patina, its surface brittle and fragile. Only the front of the breastplate retained a circular rune arrangement.

After its magic had been extracted, the runes seemed even more lifeless, without the slightest trace of spirituality.

Even the stench of bronze had grown stronger.

Aemon's eyes shifted as he guessed that the magic came from these ancient runes.

Only the unknown power once mastered by the First Men could possibly attract magic.

"I'll try asking Mom when she gets back." Perhaps he could learn something useful.

He needed more magic.

After confirming there was no other Bronze Armor in the Tomb Cellar, Aemon patted his grimy little hands and prepared to exchange for a magic card.

"Gods bless me!"

Muttering under his breath, he poked the white card on the glowing panel.

It was the only card he could afford.

Unlike vibrant dragon eggs, Bronze Armor was poor at storing and absorbing magic.

Now that he had gathered everything available, he had no idea when he would be able to make use of it again.

Pop~~

The instant his fingertip touched the panel, a brilliant light flashed.

The card marked Guidance Once shattered in an instant, and a phantom golden finger emerged, pointing east beyond the Tomb Cellar.

Aemon's mouth fell open in surprise as an image suddenly surfaced in his mind.

East of Runestone lay a stretch of hills bordering the East Coast.

The viewpoint kept drawing closer until it settled on a cluster of soft, slender dark-green blades of grass.

The grass swayed gently, giving off a faint fragrance.

"I think I know where it is."

The vision quickly faded. Drawing on his past impressions, Aemon happily left the Tomb Cellar.

He practically skipped as he walked.

The Vale was a land of stark environmental contrasts, with an even wider gap between its rich and poor nobles.

House Royce had once been immensely prominent, and its lands were among the broadest.

Whether farming or grazing, there were no shortcomings in any regard.

If not for the vast eastern coastline around Runestone being made up of towering cliffs and beaches strewn with hidden reefs, leaving no conditions for building a harbor—

Even Gulltown, its old neighbor and the Vale's only settlement that could be called a city, could not compare.

The place indicated by Guidance Once was a lush pasture on the East Coast.

That cluster of dense dark-green grass was a precious medicine for treating insomnia and restless dreams.

Creak!

A wooden plank was lifted from below, and a little head of silver-gold hair poked out.

Aemon looked around, then slowly climbed out after confirming no one was there.

"What were you doing in there!?"

He had only climbed halfway out when a man's rough, low voice boomed above him like muffled thunder.

Aemon jumped, his large eyes going wide.

Who was that?

Thud!

The plank was kicked open by a large foot, and the panicked Aemon was lifted by the back of his collar and set on the ground.

The sunlight was so bright that he could barely open his eyes.

Looking around, he saw that he was still in Runestone's rear courtyard.

A tall figure stood before him, blocking the glaring sun. A grim, rough face lowered toward him.

"Gonsal?"

The man before him was a burly giant standing seven feet one inch tall—over two meters tall by modern measurements.

Even The Mountain, that infamous villain of later years, was only about this size.

Only after recognizing him did Aemon lift his little chin and nod arrogantly. "Are you questioning me?"

That nod counted as a greeting.

That was right—this was his attitude.

If you didn't like it, then try hitting me. In Runestone, or even all of Westeros, no one dared lay a hand on him casually.

That was what eight-year-old little rogue Aemon thought.

Gonsal Royce, the two-meter giant, indeed fell for it. He gave a perfunctory bow. "Prince, may I ask what you think of the Tomb Cellar?"

"I have no opinion. It simply needed cleaning."

Aemon stood up and patted his dirtied clothes, speaking with righteous confidence despite having no grounds for it. "It was too dirty inside, so I cleaned it myself."

Then he waved a hand, signaling that there was no need to thank him.

His background was noble, but equally complicated.

He lived in Runestone, yet bore the surname Targaryen.

Barring any surprises, he would inherit House Royce's ancestral estate in the future.

Everything would have been fine, except his mother, Lady Rhea, hunted all day and paid no attention to her precious son, acting like a completely hands-off parent.

Yet she never mentioned his inheritance rights either, keeping her stance ambiguous.

As a result, the collateral and branch members of House Royce constantly whispered in private, inevitably developing certain thoughts of their own.

To avoid trouble, Aemon was especially forceful toward "them," never yielding an inch when anything happened.

Gonsal furrowed his brow, and a fierce aura rolled toward him.

Without saying a word, his mountain-like frame alone was oppressive enough.

"Do you need something else?" Aemon was completely unafraid, his little neck held ramrod straight.

Afraid the other man might forget his identity, he provocatively edged closer.

As if he were saying, Hit me, then!

Gonsal's expression darkened further, but he had no answer for the silver-haired child who was only thigh-high.

He was one of House Royce's collateral relatives, born to a long-established knightly family.

His bloodline was not as pure as Lady Rhea's, and he had no right to inherit Runestone. He currently served as the castle's Trainer.

With his absurdly massive build, he had always been the one bullying others.

He had never felt so helpless.

"If there's nothing else, then leave."

Having firmly seized the upper hand, Aemon turned and slipped away while things were going well.

The two-meter giant before him was no ordinary man. He had left his mark in the book Fire & Blood.

After his mother, Lady Rhea, passed away, a cousin was appointed to inherit Runestone.

Yet after the Dance of the Dragons ended, the lord of Runestone became Gonsal, known as the Bronze Giant.

Come to think of it, this guy even killed one of his brothers-in-law.

Aemon walked quickly, but thoughts of his father, still away from home, surfaced in his heart. The man had not yet gotten involved with his second wife.

As for sisters... who could say?

After he had only taken two steps, Gonsal's distinct deep voice came from behind him. "Lady Rhea will be returning from her hunt soon. Sister Martha has been looking everywhere for you so you can wash up and welcome her."

"Mom's coming back!" Aemon's chubby cheeks trembled, and he moved even faster.

Ignoring the two-meter giant, he vanished into the rear courtyard of the castle.

Daily update times:

8:00 a.m.—4:00 p.m.

--

Same old routine, Friends—please keep reading and invest. Thanks~