Rise of the F-Rank Hero

The clatter of carriage wheels finally slowed as they reached the familiar cobbled street before the inn. Lanterns burned low, casting long shadows against the wooden walls.

"Home sweet home," Oliver muttered as he hopped down, stretching his arms.

Isolde stepped out after him, hair still perfect despite the long ride. "You make it sound like we've returned from a year-long war."

"Well," Oliver said with a smirk, "after facing nobles, formal dinners, and too many forks at once, it felt like one."

They pushed open the door to the inn and were greeted instantly by Serena's voice.

"Look who's back! The celebrities of Valebridge!" she called from behind the counter, hands on her hips. "How was the grand visit to the Viscount's palace?"

"Comfortable," Isolde said, heading toward a chair. "Too comfortable. I could smell politics in the air."

"Ha!" Serena laughed, clearly delighted. "And did they serve you those tiny rich-people portions that barely fill a spoon?"

Oliver grinned as he sank into a seat. "You're not wrong. I'm starving again already."

Nyra came running out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. "Big brother! Big sis! You're back!"

Her enthusiasm was contagious. She tugged at Oliver's sleeve, eyes wide with curiosity. "How was it? Did they give you money? Were their house big?"

Oliver chuckled. "They did, yeah. And their hallways were big enough to fit a dragon."

"Really?!"

Isolde gave him a side glance. "He's exaggerating. Barely large enough for a wyvern."

"So," Serena said, leaning forward conspiratorially, "what kind of impression did you two leave on the noble house? You didn't punch anyone this time, right?"

Oliver raised his hands in mock surrender. "No, no punching. Everyone was polite this time. Even the viscount apologized personally."

"Viscount?" Serena blinked. "You mean Theo Valtaine?"

Isolde smirked faintly. "Apparently, he wasn't pleased with Cedri's little stunt. We received an apology and a personal invitation to the estate."

"Invitation?!" Serena's eyes went wide. "You two really are climbing the ladder fast. Maybe I should start calling you Lord Oliver and Lady Isolde."

Oliver laughed nervously. "Please don't. I barely survived the etiquette part of dinner."

Nyra was still listening intently when Oliver added casually, "Oh, and Viscount's daughter—Elara—wants to visit us sometime."

That got both Serena and Nyra to blink.

"A noble girl? Here?" Serena said, half in disbelief, half amused. "I'd better polish every glass in the place."

Nyra's face lit up like a lamp. "She can be my friend too!"

Isolde stretched her arms, smiling faintly. "That might not be a bad idea. The girl's never seen the world outside her walls. A little chaos might do her good."

"Chaos?" Serena sighed dramatically. "Whenever you say that, I start worrying about property damage."

Everyone laughed — the easy, comfortable laughter that only comes after tension fades.

For now, the world was calm again.

But none of them noticed the faint glimmer of a carriage crest that lingered at the end of the street, a servant's eyes watching the inn's door before quietly turning away into the night.

"Hah~ I am tiered. I am going back to sleep" Oliver said going upstairs.

"I am going too. With that walking around the market whole day and putting up etiquette whole evening has taken out lot from me." Isolde said following behind.

Serena and Nyra shook their head in unison sighing as they went back to clean up the counter.

[Next Day]

Afternoon.

The room was quiet except for the scratching sound of the runic pen.

Oliver sat cross-legged at the table, several metal weapons laid out before him — plain swords, cheap daggers, and one spear shaft he'd been saving for days. Candlelight flickered across his face as he leaned closer, tracing glowing lines over the smooth surface.

"Not too deep," Isolde warned from the bed, watching lazily with one leg crossed over the other. "It's runesmithing, not carpentry."

"I know that," Oliver muttered, tongue sticking out slightly as he focused. "You're the one who told me to use pressure."

"Controlled pressure. Not gorilla grip."

He gritted his teeth. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Very much."

He exhaled sharply, turning his attention back to the spear. Over the last week, he'd spent hours memorizing rune patterns and the complex syntax that bound them — flow, direction, and resonance. He'd failed more times than he could count; some inscriptions fizzled, others exploded in bursts of blue smoke.

But today felt different. His hand was steady. The mana around him felt alive.

"Okay," he murmured, "let's do this properly."

He started etching the first rune — Ael, the basic wind aspect. The pen's tip glowed faint green, following the curves of the symbol with surprising accuracy. Then he began another, Zyn, a lesser rune of discharge that channeled static energy.

The air around the spear pulsed faintly as the two runes interacted.

"Good… good," Isolde said, leaning forward slightly. "Don't rush the binding."

Oliver carefully drew the connecting lines between them — the lattice that decided whether they would complement each other or explode in his face. Sweat rolled down his temple. The runes flared once, dimmed, and then —

Hummm.

A faint vibration passed through the weapon. The glow steadied, the lines linking perfectly without resistance.

"Did I… do it?"

Isolde stood up, walking to him with an unreadable look. "Let's see."

She flicked a finger, activating the runes. The spear vibrated softly, releasing a whisper of air that stirred the room's curtains. Then, with a faint crackle, small threads of lightning danced across the shaft.

Oliver's eyes widened. "It's working!"

"Hmm…" Isolde's expression didn't change, but her crimson eyes gleamed. She could feel the harmony — the resonance. The two runes weren't just cooperating; they were feeding each other, cycling ambient mana endlessly.

That shouldn't be possible — not for basic patterns.

"…It's stable," she said at last. "And efficient. That's rare."

"Stable? Rare?" Oliver grinned. "That means I did great, right?"

"It means you didn't blow up the room," she replied flatly, but the faintest smile tugged at her lips.

He sighed, brushing his hair back. "You could just say 'good job,' you know."

"I could," she said, turning away, "but that might make you complacent."

He stared at the spear, still faintly glowing in his hands. "I think I'll call it… the Gale-Surge Spear."

"Terrible name."

He chuckled. "You've said that about every name I've ever given anything."

"That's because all your names are terrible," she said, walking to the window.

As she looked out at the night sky, her gaze softened. She didn't show it, but she could feel the pulse of power radiating from that weapon — a perfect rune convergence, the kind even the old masters of the Tenebris age used to struggle with.

Oliver didn't realize what he had done. And perhaps it was better that way, for now.

Behind her, he stretched his arms and flopped onto the bed, exhausted. "Alright, teacher. Next lesson tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, we'll see if you can carve without whining."

"Hey—"

"Sleep. You'll need your strength if you want to keep up with me."

He muttered under his breath, but smiled anyway. The spear lay across the table, glowing softly in rhythm with his breathing — as if alive.

Isolde's eyes lingered on it once more before she whispered to herself,

"…A resonance lattice… at level thirty-six. Impossible."

~~~~

The morning sunlight poured through the window, bright and warm.

Oliver stood by the table, spinning his new spear lightly in his hands. The faint green glow from the carved runes shimmered as he twirled it.

"Let's go for a mission," he said with a grin, inspecting the spear's tip. "I want to test this guy properly."

Isolde, still half-wrapped in a blanket, yawned. "You and that spear again. You look like a kid who just got his first toy."

He chuckled. "It's not a toy. This is a masterpiece in the making." He stroked the shaft fondly, eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Sure, sure," she said lazily. "But can we have breakfast first."

Before Oliver could reply, the door burst open.

"Big sis!" Nyra's voice rang out. She stood there, her silver hair bouncing as she ran inside, eyes bright. "I've learned all the basics! You promised to teach me real magic after that!"

Isolde raised an eyebrow. "Real magic, huh?"

Nyra nodded furiously, her expression deadly serious. "Yes! I can read, write, and even chant! I want to shoot fireballs now!"

Oliver chuckled, leaning the spear against the wall. "Looks like someone's impatient."

"I'm not impatient!" Nyra pouted, crossing her arms. "I just don't want to stay weak!"

Isolde looked at Oliver as if silently asking what he wanted to do.

"It's fine," Oliver said, smiling. "You can teach her. I was thinking of going alone today."

Isolde blinked. "Alone?"

"Yeah," he said, fastening his pouch to his belt. "I can't rely on you forever, right? Gotta test what I've learned on my own."

A hint of approval crossed her face. "Very well. Be careful, though."

He gave her a confident grin. "I'll be fine. I've got Gale-Surge here."

"That awful name again," she muttered, shaking her head.

Ignoring her jab, Oliver waved goodbye and stepped out into the sunlit street, heading toward the Adventurer's Guild.