Ripples of Fate

He slowly loosened his hands in disbelief. Under Horn's gaze, the rune left on the mirror began to writhe like a living thing, forming a self-sustaining cycle. As light flowed through it, crimson radiance seeped out of the mirror and illuminated Horn's eyes.

—Such splendor.

As the Faith Rune took shape, genuine heat spilled from it, warming Horn's chest. His hands, held close to it, quickly dried out, and a scorched sensation stung his fingertips.

Only then did he feel the weakness washing over him. His vision darkened, and he slowly leaned back against the machine behind him, gasping for breath.

For a moment, he had even forgotten to breathe. He had simply watched his creation with all his heart, and felt utterly satisfied.

[—From the ashes, we nurture roses.]

"Excellent. Even better than I expected. You completed it on your first attempt—even an elementary Faith Rune is an astonishing achievement."

Rising from her chair, Olive reached around Horn's side. Rather than taking hold of the auxiliary handle, she placed her index finger directly on the mirror. The symbol, on the verge of collapsing, shuddered—and then solidified.

Then it lit up a second time!

Like fuel being added to an engine, the already intricate pattern began to grow again. Thousands upon thousands of fine branches chased after the renewed main trunk, pushing the symbol Horn had just created to its limits.

—Daybreak.

Crimson light filled the entire underground workshop, giving the illusion of sunrise. The symbol truly burned, losing its distinct shape and flickering like a real flame.

Hiss—

The first thing to succumb to the pressure was the Mythos filling the copper mirror. An overwhelming will and resolve swept away its bubbles of confusion, evaporating them into milky-white mist. Like a daydream dissolving in that hazy state between sleeping and waking, it vanished into the air, leaving only the faintest trace behind.

In the blink of an eye, all its splendor disappeared.

"Did you understand?"

"I didn't."

Still shocked, Horn honestly shook his head.

"This is a Scholar's foundational technique, and one of the foundations of the supernatural as well—the Faith Rune. What I just wrote was one of its branches, [Flame Seal Script]. It's the most conspicuous of the nine branches of Faith Runes. By nature, it demands to be read by everyone, even the blind. It is written in flames."

After explaining, Olive paused, then added, "Well done."

It wasn't just that he'd been able to skillfully control his externalized spirit on his first try. Nor was it merely the astonishing precision with which he'd controlled every single strand of spirit.

Olive Borlaug had founded the Silver Salt Alchemy school, risen to the "Gold" rank at an early age, and earned the title of "Master" in the Society. She was, without a doubt, a genius.

From her perspective, Horn's work had been shapeless in form and unfocused in intent. It was far too crude, riddled with errors.

But what if this had been his first time trying?

What if this Apprentice, who had only just become a supernatural, had gone from learning the basics of spirit manipulation to independently inscribing and sustaining a Faith Rune in less than an hour—meeting the minimum requirement for becoming a Scholar?

Yes. By the standards established by the Tree of the Night Watcher, Horn had already reached the bare minimum threshold for a Scholar. All he needed was to register with any library and take an exam, and he could call himself a [Scholar].

How long had it taken her to learn the basics back then?

A week? Or longer?

Olive could still recall the shock in her mentor's eyes and the envy on her classmates' faces. Today, for the first time in years, she understood the helpless frustration of those she had once left far behind.

A genius, an undeniable genius, stood before her. Even exhaustion couldn't hide the thirst for knowledge and the desire to explore on his face.

—He'll rise higher than I ever did.

A sudden premonition welled up within her. Olive almost immediately accepted this baseless assertion—and felt a wave of absurdity.

It was absurd that she had only now realized something so obvious.

With talent like his, and her own meticulous guidance, if he still couldn't surpass her, then she would be a disgrace as his mentor.

All right, then. She would pass on the essence of Silver Salt Alchemy without holding anything back, chart his path and Mark, lay the groundwork for his learning, and pave a broad road ahead. She would watch him follow the path she had walked, then venture further than she ever had. How would that be?

Filled with anticipation for this bright future, Olive smiled and lifted her head. She was just about to offer Horn a few more words of encouragement when she suddenly froze.

This was clearly the best plan. So why had she begun to feel dissatisfied?

Because a flame still burned in the young man's eyes. As the light on the mirror dimmed, the orange-red glow in his eyes only grew brighter, illuminating another possibility.

A newer, better possibility.

"The foundation of mortal strength lies in creating things stronger than oneself. Someone must become the forge and cradle of great works... But we must be cautious: a creation may not be content to remain beneath its creator, just as mortals are not content to remain beneath the gods."

The familiar scene before her brought back a teaching she had once heard. If her usually silent mentor could see what she had achieved today, would he feel jealous? Would he feel proud? Would he feel afraid?

Olive had never cared about that.

She only wanted to speed things up.

Amber light stirred in her eyes. Feeling her connection with the principle of Ember grow stronger, Olive swallowed the praise that had been on the tip of her tongue and replaced it with her usual calm tone.

"But it's still not enough."

"You have a solid foundation in control. Does it have something to do with the ability that came with your Mark? I remember the Blood Scorcher's main enhancement wasn't supposed to be precision."

"Mm-hmm, sort of, more or less, probably something like that."

Horn had no idea how long and winding a journey his mentor's thoughts had taken during that brief silence, or what hopes she had for his future. He quickly agreed with Olive's guess, eager to steer the conversation away from a question he couldn't easily answer.

He couldn't very well say that even as an ordinary person, he'd been remarkably brave, cleared the Hound Bar dungeon in one life, and gotten so used to burning monsters along the way that it had become second nature, could he?

Fortunately, Olive didn't press him. Instead, as though she had suddenly remembered something urgent, she pointed out more than twenty areas where Horn could have done better. Her eye-opening insights and far-sighted guidance nearly tore down and rebuilt the entire process from the beginning, smashing the faint complacency that had begun to creep into Horn's heart.

As expected, if you weren't good enough, you had to practice more. There was no room for even the slightest slack.

Rubbing his hands together, Horn prepared to give it another try. But when he felt the spirit within him as depleted as if he'd beaten up a whole carriageful of bread men, he reconsidered his bold idea.

Sob, I've been wrung dry by alchemy. There's not a drop left.