Power of Runes

…Ah! Damn… it's a nightmare…

And in that instant, he wished he had never laid eyes on it.

The scene before him was the kind that sank deep into the soul, an imprint that no time or distance could erase. The streets that had once been filled with dwarves busy in their daily lives were now nothing more than a charred graveyard.

Stone buildings lay collapsed in heaps of blackened rubble, their jagged edges still glowing faintly from the lingering heat of the blasts. Fires crackled and burned without restraint, their orange light casting long, warped shadows that danced across the devastation.

Bodies lay strewn through the wreckage. Some were crushed beneath the weight of fallen walls, others torn apart by the sheer force of the explosions. The sharp stench of blood mixed with thick, acrid smoke, filling the air so heavily that it felt like it clung to his lungs with every breath.

And among them… were children. Small hands frozen mid-reach, faces locked in smiles and laughter that would never return.

It was a massacre. One done with purpose. Deliberate. Merciless.

Ash felt a weight tighten inside his chest, a mix of cold, controlled rage and the bitter metallic taste of helplessness. He forced himself to turn away from the lifeless faces, shifting his gaze toward a faint flicker of movement in the distance…

What he saw behind the destruction made his stomach churn.

From as far as his eyes could see, the entire edge of the explosion site was lined with dwarves. They stood still, watching him, the burning houses and scattered corpses with hollow, lifeless eyes.

And it was not a few dozen of them… it was far, far more.

With no visible end, dwarves stretched across every direction.

Ash teleported to the high vantage point of a broken building, the stone beneath his feet cracked and scorched, and the sight before him made his blood cold.

Hundreds. Thousands. Tens of thousands. Hundreds of thousands. Perhaps even millions…

He could not tell the exact number, but one thing was certain—he was standing at the center of a crater, surrounded by a living sea of dwarves.

Every one of them carried a weapon, from crude tools to sharpened blades. Children, the elderly, the young childrens were gripping small knives… all of them stared directly at him with that same twisted, unnatural smile.

A thought rose unbidden, one he had considered only a few hours ago, echoing alongside the final words of the dead criminals.

If everyone was under a mind hex, the demon should have made everyone attack me…'

Another thought surfaced.

He is everywhere…'

Then another.

We are all going to die…'

Another.

Run… run away…'

And again.

He is everywhere…'

He is everywhere…'

He is everywhere…'

Ash finally understood what they had meant. Whoever—or whatever—"he" was, he truly was everywhere.

And the city… was already beyond saving.

He had been moving exactly as the demon wanted, dancing in its palm from the start.

Looking at the scene before him, Ash let out a quiet, humorless chuckle.

For the first time since arriving in this world, he did not know what to do next. The sound that escaped his lips was not amusement, but the strained laugh of someone backed into a corner, a laugh that tasted of iron and helplessness.

What should I do? Should I… run?

No… I cannot run. How could I? After seeing something like this, if I turn my back and pretend it is not my problem, then no matter how much time passes, I will never be able to meet my own eyes in the mirror again. I cannot run…

But then… what can I do?

Ash knew the answer, yet it was the very thing weighing him down. He had to kill the demon. That was the only true solution. But could he even manage that? What if the demon's strength surpassed his own by far? It already had so many dwarfs under its control, and there was no telling how many more were hidden elsewhere.

Should he try to fight every last dwarf here? He could. But in the end, he would lose. He would survive, because he could not truly die, yet that survival would mean nothing. The outcome would be defeat.

While he was lost in thought, every single dwarf in sight suddenly took a step forward in perfect unison, moving as though tied together by invisible strings.

Ash did not stop to think. He vanished from the spot in an instant, teleporting away.

---

He reappeared at the far edge of the Land of Forge, standing once again at the place where his journey into this territory had begun. From here, endless mountain ranges stretched toward the horizon, jagged peaks clawing at the sky.

He stared at them in silence.

He had run away.

Yet, in his mind, it was not running. This was a calculated retreat.

Ash understood that his Life Magic could heal the dwarfs, but during the process, far too many would die.

Rather than struggling to heal millions one by one, it would be far better to destroy the source—the demon—and free everyone in a single decisive act.

But finding the demon was another matter entirely.

He had no skill, no tool, no special ability to locate its position, and even less understanding of what the demon's true power might be.

For the first time in a long while, Ash felt the weight of helplessness.

He needed help.

Several names came to mind: the World Tree, the Whisperer, the Saints… If he told them about the situation, he was certain they would help.

Yet, hesitation lingered.

It was not that he doubted them too deeply, although a small shadow of mistrust always existed. What truly concerned him was how the demon would respond to their arrival.

If it could so easily control and slaughter the dwarfs, what might it do against the Saints?

And then the thought came, cold and unshakable… What if even the Dwarven Saints are already under its control?

The idea alone was enough to make his skin crawl, yet it was not without reason. What he had just witnessed would be enough to make anyone question even the most trusted of figures.

In Iron Hall City, most warriors and guards were below Grandmaster Rank. Awakened individuals were extremely rare, their numbers were nowhere near enough to fill armies.

Ash did not know the exact count, but in an average city, there would usually be at least ten Grandmasters and perhaps a single Legendary Rank, the city head, overseeing them. The number of fighters below Grandmaster fluctuated greatly.

But here was the reality. Ash could not yet defeat a single Grandmaster. At best, he could match them blow for blow for a short while, but victory was far from his reach.

And this city… this city had at least ten of them, each with decades of experience and the power to crush him if they fought seriously.

That was why he needed help.

Should I bring Ray…?

The idea passed through his mind, lingering only for a moment before he dismissed it. He knew Ray well enough to understand that his presence was unpredictable.

Who could say if it would turn the tide in his favor… or ignite a disaster far greater than the one already at hand?

Nah… better to leave him be. That guy is far more likely to invite trouble than to solve it.

Letting out a slow breath, Ash reached into his soul space and drew out a small communicator. It looked almost like a crude walkie-talkie, its surface dark and faintly scratched, but the runic lines etched into it pulsed faintly with power.

This was no ordinary trinket. Though its design was rough and the runic enchantments clearly the work of human craftsmanship—crude compared to real Runic Sorcery—it served its purpose well enough. Its range could stretch across continents, perhaps even touch the farthest corners of the world, or so the Whisperer had claimed.

The whisperer had given it to Ash together with the mana imitation device, the very same one that had shattered during his duel with Ray, along with a simple instruction: "If you ever find yourself truly cornered, use this."

And now, it seemed, that moment had come.

With a quiet click, Ash activated the device and spoke into it.

"Hello…"

For a few seconds, there was only static, faint and distant. Then a familiar voice filled the silence. Deep, aged, and steady, the Whisperer's tone carried both authority and a strange, underlying warmth.

"Is something wrong? Do you need help? Are you safe?"

The concern in that voice made Ash shift uncomfortably. It was unusual, hearing someone care for him. Clearing his throat, Ash replied,

"Ah… yes. No, nothing is wrong. I'm well. I'm fine. It's just… I need a little help."

And then he began to speak, telling him everything.

From the moment he stepped foot into the Land of Forge, to every encounter and attack, to the strange things he had uncovered and the guesses that had taken root in his mind.

He recounted it all without holding back, the words flowing steadily as if releasing them lightened the weight on his chest.

When Ash finished, there was silence on the other end. Not the silence of a broken connection, but one filled with thought.

Finally, the Whisperer spoke again.

"Can you meet me in person?"

There was something in his voice that Ash could not quite place. Shock, perhaps… or maybe caution. Whatever it was, it made Ash wonder what the man wanted to discuss face-to-face rather than over the communicator.

Still, he agreed without hesitation.

And as soon as his mana had fully recovered, he teleported back to the academy.

***