Magister Insanity

Eventually, after taking a few moments to steady my breath and gather my chaotic thoughts, I came to a startling realization: my situation wasn't nearly as dire as I had first believed.

Though my Origin Sea was gone, that didn't mean I was ruined.

It simply meant my path of progression was unlike any other Blasphemer's.

The notion was as thrilling as it was terrifying. To walk a road no one else could follow meant I would no longer need to fight tooth and nail over scarce resources. Most societies and fortresses in the Soul Realm revolved around the endless struggle to acquire demon shards. But if my evolution required none of them… then I, a lowly old man, held an advantage beyond imagining. I could grow stronger at a pace that defied reason and do so without relying on anyone but myself.

Let me be clear, I was never fond of killing strangers simply for the sake of my own survival.

Wouldn't that make me nothing more than a monster? I wasn't heartless, nor was I some so-called heavenly demon. If I had to take lives, then I needed to choose my targets with care.

Criminals would be ideal... They wouldn't be missed. But how was I supposed to get access to them, especially with time running against me?

It couldn't be helped. My only option was to target Sleepless with questionable backgrounds.

Naturally, Imperials were out of the question. I couldn't simply strike at anyone either; many belonged to powerful families and tribes such as the elves, the lycanthropes, and countless others. Once a soul was devoured by the Soul-Devouring Shadow, their Legacy Ability could be extracted. At least, that's what the runes in the window suggested.

But what if I killed someone with nothing but a worthless ability? How long could I endure then?

The Soul Realm was unpredictable, its Phases even more so. Preparation was everything. If I was to survive, I needed to secure an ability versatile enough to adapt to any situation.

From what I'd gathered, only three abilities could be extracted in total. Which meant three people had to die.

Preferably, not within the academy's walls. Attempting an assassination inside the Imperium Academy wasn't just reckless, it was downright stupid and suicidal. The risks far outweighed the gains.

The library held more than enough cautionary tales of those who had tried. As for the assailants themselves… best to leave them buried in the pages of history where they belonged.

What to do…? For now, all I can do is observe. Still, a few targets have already come to mind.

With that thought, I forced myself to clear away the murderous impulses lingering at the edges of my mind. Drawing in a steady breath, I pushed open the door and stepped into the runic study class.

The familiar scent of parchment and ink greeted me as I stepped inside. The runic study hall stretched wide, rows of desks bathed in the steady glow of suspended crystals.

Students were bent over their tomes or etching symbols into slate boards with meticulous focus. Most were elves, the rest crossbloods, but not a single beastfolk or human in sight.

Which made me an anomaly.

The moment I stepped inside, every head turned. Their stares sized me down, heavy with curiosity, suspicion… and something darker.

"Hey, isn't that the heartless devil?"

"Yeah. That's him. I'd recognize that midnight hair and those soulless eyes even if I was blind."

"How can someone like that be allowed into the academy?"

"Wicked fiend."

"Ugly grasshopper."

…These guys do realize I can hear everything they say, right? And... ugh... wait a damn second.

WHO THE HELL JUST CALLED ME AN UGLY GRASSHOPPER?!

'Calm down. Stay calm. They're not worth it. They're just stupid elves, that's all.'

Even so, their resentment was sharper than I'd anticipated. Of course, it all traced back to that little "misunderstanding" during the induction ceremony.

Why were they still hung up on that? Tch. Whatever the reason, it was clear my reputation had taken a far greater blow than I expected.

Sweeping my gaze across the hall, I took notice of the instructor standing at the front.

She was an older woman, perhaps in her mid-fifties, her posture straight as a spear. Brown hair was tied neatly into a bun, though faint strands fell against her pale cheeks, softening her stern features. A long robe of deep indigo wrapped around her body, giving her the refined atmosphere of an ancient scholar.

Her eyes scanned the room before finally resting on me.

"Ah, another student. You must be Sleepless Sonny?" she asked softly.

"Yes," I answered. "I'm registered for the runic study course."

"I see. I am Awakened Irene, the instructor of this class. Though," her lips curved into the faintest frown, "I would have preferred it if you had arrived a little earlier."

"My apologies," I said, offering a respectful bow.

But she merely inclined her head, dismissing the gesture without further acknowledgment, and motioned toward an empty desk.

"Quickly then, take your seat. We began a few minutes ago, but I'll give you a brief recap of what's been discussed."

I gave a small nod and made my way toward the seat she indicated. The weight of countless stares followed me with every step, each pair of eyes whispering silent judgment. Even after I slid into the desk, the murmurs didn't fade completely.

Tsk. Persistent bastards.

The instructor cleared her throat, the sound instantly snapping the room back into silence.

"As I was saying," she continued in a measured, carrying voice, "runes can be understood as fragments of the divine language, the script through which the Gods once imposed their will upon creation. They are one of the primary classifications of the sorcerous arts."

She let the words linger, sweeping her gaze deliberately across the rows of students. Then, with a slight arch of her brow, she asked:

"But tell me, what exactly are the sorcerous arts? Can anyone answer?"

A female elf with long platinum hair raised her hand. Receiving a small nod of permission, she spoke with a clear, melodic voice:

"Sorcerous arts, or simply Sorcery, are the structured methods of producing desired results, usually by channeling void essence. Though, in broader terms, it is most often defined as the attempt to replicate the divine 'Mysteries,' the ways of the Gods, through mortal means."

Instructor Irene allowed a faint smile to touch her lips.

"Well said, young Evelith. Sorcery was indeed conceived as a way for the less gifted to mirror the Mysteries of the Gods. From this pursuit emerged three principal classifications: the path of Spells, the path of Runes, and the path of Alchemy. Of these, only Spells and Runes remain in widespread practice today."

She paused, then turned to the blackboard, chalk in hand, and began to write in clean strokes.

"There are a total of twenty-four primary runic languages, first codified during the Old Emperor's Era, each used to convey mysteries and secrets. But understand this: there is no single, universal system of runes. Just like any spoken languages, they evolved over eras and across regions. While the standard set consists of twenty-four, some traditions preserve only sixteen, while others expand the lexicon to thirty-three."

She tapped the chalk twice against the board before continuing.

"Beyond these are numerous secondary runes, derived from the original twenty-four. These belong to what is often called the Loki Language. Scholars generally regard them as later literary additions, meant to simplify texts, though many argue they hold little to no true significance."

With a faint shrug, she set the chalk aside and turned back toward the class.

"Now, the nature of runes lies in their versatility. A single rune may hold multiple meanings, each revealed depending on the context in which it is invoked. Alone, a rune can serve as a foundation; combined with others, it forms patterns that yield entirely different results. Furthermore, the variation in rune types influences their effects. Should a newly derived branch of runes ever be discovered, one marked by a distinct deviation, it could very well give rise to an entirely new spectrum of sorcerous possibilities."

"For example," Instructor Irene continued, her hand lifting slightly as if tracing invisible lines in the air, "let's say you wish to inscribe a barrier rune. By itself, the rune for Aegis signifies protection. But when combined with the rune for Stone, it takes on a physical durability, hardening like a wall. Pair it instead with Flow, and the barrier bends like water, absorbing force rather than resisting it."

She moved her hand as though sketching on the air, and faint motes of light shimmered in response to her will. The shapes were crude, ephemeral, merely examples, but the class leaned forward instinctively, their eyes fixed on the glowing lines.

"This is the essence of runic artistry: not the rune itself, but the relationships between runes. Alone, they are letters of a forgotten language. Together, they form sentences, incantations, even entire philosophies."

Her gaze swept the class again.

"Now then, who among you can tell me why some runes refuse to combine, even when their meanings seem compatible?"

The room went silent. A few elves shifted uncomfortably, reluctant to meet her eyes. Evelith lowered her gaze, thoughtful, but didn't raise her hand this time.

The silence stretched.

I sighed inwardly, already knowing exactly where this was heading. Before she could single me out, I lifted my hand, cutting off the inevitable.

"Can I answer?"

Instructor Irene's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but she gave no sign of objection. "Go on," she prompted.

"The compatibility of runes," I began, choosing my words carefully, "is not determined solely by their surface meanings. A rune embodies not only a concept but also the intrinsic flow of essence it governs. Two runes may appear compatible on a semantic level, but if their essence frequencies clash, the attempt to combine them will fail or worse, produce unpredictable results. Harmony must exist on the metaphysical plane, not merely in interpretation."

A quiet murmur rippled through the class. Even the elves seemed intrigued — or perhaps taken aback — by my insight. I kept my gaze level, scanning the room just enough to gauge reactions without seeming invasive.

Instructor Irene tilted her head, faint approval glimmering in her sharp eyes.

"An insightful observation, Sonny. Indeed, runes operate on multiple levels. Their synergy depends as much on the flow of void essence, the intent of the user, and the context of the invocation as it does on their literal meanings. Many who fail to recognize this mistake runes repeatedly, never understanding why their incantations collapse."

Then, after a brief pause, she asked with a hint of curiosity:

"But this is your first class. How did you already know the answer?"

A small, confident smile curved my lips, perhaps a touch more smug than I intended. I answered calmly:

"You could say I'm a fast learner. And… I happen to have a good memory as well."