NOVEL NEXT Chapter 66: Invitation
The next few days passed in a rhythm that almost felt… normal.
Nyra spent her mornings at the inn's front counter with Serena, poring over simple books and practicing letters on scraps of parchment. Her handwriting was clumsy, but her eyes shone each time Serena praised her. For a girl who'd been treated like dirt her entire life, even these little victories seemed to mean the world.
Oliver's mornings were less forgiving.
Inside the inn's backyard, the clatter of steel and the scratch of metal on stone became a constant. He sat with a sword balanced on his lap, the runic pen in hand, painstakingly etching glowing lines under Isolde's sharp gaze.
"No, no—your strokes are uneven again," Isolde said, flicking his forehead without mercy. "Runes aren't doodles, Oliver. Each line is a channel for mana. A sloppy line means wasted energy. Again."
"Ughhh… my hand's cramping," Oliver groaned, shaking his wrist.
"Good. Build stamina. You'll need it."
More than once, his failures ended in smoking blades or sputtering bursts of harmless sparks — much to Isolde's amusement and Oliver's dismay. Still, by the end of the week, he managed to inscribe a simple [Wind Slash] rune onto a practice sword, and the thrill of seeing the air ripple cleanly off the blade made every bruise and headache worth it.
Afternoons were spent hunting.
Instead of easy beginner quests, Isolde steered them toward higher-ranked contracts. A pack of dire wolves that had been stalking caravans. A venom-spitting basilisk in the marshes. A troll whose regeneration had terrified rookie adventurers. Each time, Isolde cut through the monsters like they were nuisances, leaving Oliver to practice his runes in real combat.
"Hey, save me one next time!" Oliver shouted after she cleaved the troll in two with a single glowing blade of crimson magic.
"You can't even carve a stable rune without burning your eyebrows off," she retorted. "Baby steps."
But there were missions where they needed extra hands.
One evening, the guild paired them with another party: three adventurers short on magical support. Their leader, a burly axeman named Garrick, greeted Isolde with a handshake that turned into a double-take at her aura.
"You're the mage?" he asked, incredulous. "I thought they said you were… uh… S-rank?"
Isolde smirked. "Did they?"
Oliver clapped Garrick's shoulder, grinning. "Trust me. You're in safe hands."
The mission was to clear a corrupted grove infested with vine horrors and poison-bloated treants. Garrick's group hacked away furiously, but when the trees began to regenerate, panic set in — until Isolde stepped forward, eyes glowing faintly.
She raised a single hand. "[Inferno Bloom]."
The entire grove erupted in roaring crimson fire, the vines curling into ash within seconds. The other adventurers gawked, weapons lowering uselessly.
"…I could've sworn this was listed as a B-rank quest," one muttered.
Oliver smirked, leaning on his sword. "Yeah, and she made it look like pest control."
The hunt ended before sunset, the other group awestruck. Garrick tried to insist they split the reward evenly, but Oliver waved him off with a grin. "Don't worry about it. It is just some chump change for us."
~~~~
That night, back in his room after another successful mission, Oliver collapsed onto the bed with a groan. "Gods, my body feels like it's been chewed up and spat out."
"Stop whining and check your status," Isolde said from across the room, lazily twirling her hair. "You've been working harder than usual. Let's see if it's paying off."
Oliver muttered something under his breath but obeyed, pulling up his glowing blue interface. His eyes widened as the numbers filled his vision.
Status Window
Name: Oliver Shaw
Class 1: Linguist (F-Rank), Runesmith (Unranked)
Level: 36
HP: 782 / 782
MP: 244 / 244
Strength: 112
Endurance: 121
Agility: 97
Intelligence: 168
Skills:
✦ Language Comprehension – Understand and speak any language.
✧ Basic Rune Carving – Allows the inscription of elementary runes onto metal, wood, or stone. (Accuracy affects success rate.)
✦ Mana Channeling – Steadily infuse ambient mana into runes to stabilize effects.
✧ Elemental Imprint (Beginner) – Embed simple elemental properties onto weapons or armor.
✦ Runic Sense (Intermediate) – Perceive flaws or instability in carved runes.
Oliver sat up straighter, his jaw slack. "Holy… I jumped all the way to level 36?!"
Isolde smirked knowingly. "That's what happens when you stop playing the fool and actually fight."
"Hey, I've been fighting! You just—" he cut himself off, staring at the second class. "Wait. Runesmith? It actually recognized it as a class?"
Isolde crossed her legs, leaning back smugly. "Of course it did. You're learning from the best. It was only a matter of time before your system acknowledged it."
Oliver stared at the screen, awe mixing with excitement. "…I actually feel like I'm getting stronger."
"Good." Isolde's crimson eyes glimmered. "Because you'll need to be."
~~~
The past few days had passed in relative peace.
Oliver and Isolde picked up a handful of missions — anything from culling dangerous beasts to escorting a merchant caravan. They even joined another adventurer party once, lending Isolde's magic when the group's mage fell ill. The work was steady, the money decent, and in between jobs Oliver poured his energy into learning runes under Isolde's relentless instruction.
Nyra, on the other hand, had slipped comfortably into life at the inn. Under Serena's guidance she learned to read and write, and during busy mornings she insisted on helping, weaving through the tables with a tray in her hands and a bright smile. For the first time in years, she seemed… safe.
That afternoon, the three of them were gathered in the inn's dining area. Nyra was nibbling on a sweet roll while Serena scolded her for eating before the customers were served. Oliver leaned back, rubbing his sore wrist from morning rune practice, while Isolde was leisurely sipping her wine despite it being barely noon.
It was a picture of domestic calm — until the door opened.
The hinges creaked, and the figure who stepped inside stood out instantly. An older man in immaculate butler's attire, white gloves on his hands, posture ramrod straight. His every step carried refinement, the kind that made the inn suddenly feel smaller, humbler. His sharp eyes scanned the room until they landed squarely on Oliver and Isolde's table.
He started forward, each step deliberate. The lively chatter in the inn dulled as a subtle tension took hold.
Oliver frowned, straightening in his chair. "…Do you need something, mister?"
The man stopped beside their table, bowing slightly. His voice was calm, carrying the confidence of someone used to authority.
"Good afternoon. You must be Oliver Shaw."
"Yes," Oliver replied warily, "but you still haven't answered my question."
The old man chuckled faintly, puffing his chest as though to remind them of his station. "What's the rush? Formality first. My name is Gerard Volvick — head butler of House Valtaine. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."
Oliver's expression stiffened at the name. Isolde, on the other hand, leaned back with a cold smile.
"So what? Did you come here looking for revenge on behalf of that pig?"
Gerard's polite smile didn't waver. "Miss Isolde, even if he may be… a pig, as you say, he is still of Valtaine blood. I would request that you refrain from such vulgar words."
"Or what? You want to fight me?" Isolde's voice sharpened, cutting through the tense air like a blade.
Gerard lifted both hands slightly, calm as a lake. "I wouldn't dare. Who would be foolish enough to make an enemy of an S-rank mage?"
Oliver smirked dryly. "Maybe someone by the name of Cedric Valtaine."
A flicker of irritation crossed Gerard's face before he smoothed it away. "Indeed. The young master's arrogance has long been his downfall. And now, after his disgrace… the viscount himself has punished him. Cedric is stripped of his aides and placed under house arrest. He will trouble you no longer."
Isolde's lip curled. "Good. He was more annoying than dangerous anyway."
Oliver folded his arms, his tone cautious. "And? Did you come all the way here just to tell us that?"
"Of course not." Gerard straightened, his hands folding neatly behind his back. "I am here to extend an invitation — from Viscount Theo Valtaine himself."
"An invitation?" Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"For saving his daughter."
The table froze.
"…Saving his daughter?" Isolde frowned. "I don't remember doing anything of the sort."
"Not directly," Gerard replied smoothly. "But indirectly, you did. The phoenix root mission you accepted — it was commissioned by the Valtaine family. Thanks to your timely procurement, the young lady was cured of Frostvein Sickness. You saved her life, whether you intended to or not."
Oliver blinked, realization dawning. "…Lina did say a noble family put in that request."
Gerard bowed slightly, his eyes gleaming with both gratitude and calculation. "Therefore, the viscount wishes to thank you personally. And, perhaps, to smooth over the unpleasantness caused by certain reckless members of his household."
He straightened again, the weight of his gaze fixed firmly on them.
"So then," Gerard asked, voice calm but commanding, "will you accept his invitation?"