The Land of Shadows
Six months.
That was how long I had survived in the Land of Shadows.
Six months since I had first stepped into this cursed realm beneath its crimson sky, and six months since Scáthach had decided that the fastest way to teach me was to try to kill me every day.
Apparently, I had improved.
At least, that was what my teacher claimed.
From Scáthach's perspective, the changes in her student were obvious.
The boy who had once struggled to control his own body had become something else entirely.
His muscles had hardened beneath his skin, not into bulky strength, but into something denser—more efficient. Every movement carried purpose. Every step was placed with the precision of someone who had spent far longer on a battlefield than his age should have allowed.
And then there was the Long Sword of Light.
Six months ago, using it had been little more than self-destruction.
The technique demanded an absurd amount of physical control, forcing my body to move faster than my instincts could comfortably follow. The first time I had attempted it, I had nearly collapsed afterward.
Now?
Now my body no longer protested.
The speed of the sword and the speed of my reactions had finally begun to meet.
Which, unfortunately, had encouraged Scáthach to become even more unreasonable.
She had started attacking me without warning.
During breakfast.
While I was training.
While I was walking.
Once, she had appeared behind me while I was answering the call of nature.
I still hadn't forgiven her for that one.
Yet every ambush had forced something new out of me. My reactions sharpened. My instincts became faster. My body learned before my mind could.
There were moments when even Scáthach wondered if she had finally pushed me too far.
Then I would stand back up.
Again.
And again.
And again.
CLANG!
Sparks exploded between us.
My sword collided with her spear, the impact ringing through the dead forest like a bell.
I twisted my wrists.
Scáthach countered.
I shifted my footing and redirected the blow.
Her crimson spear snapped past my face.
I ducked.
For the first time in months, she wasn't holding back the pace of the duel.
And neither was I.
CLANG!
Again.
CLANG!
Again.
My breathing grew ragged.
My arms burned.
Every muscle in my body screamed at me to stop.
Scáthach merely smiled.
It was a small smile.
Sharp.
Almost predatory.
The kind of smile that told me she was enjoying herself.
Damn monster.
I gritted my teeth and increased the pressure.
The sword in my hands blurred.
One strike.
Two.
Three.
I changed angles, attacking her shoulder, her ribs, then her throat.
She deflected each one.
But this time, she was moving.
Not effortlessly.
Not casually.
She was actually responding to me.
That realization sent a strange thrill through my chest.
I pushed forward.
Then Scáthach disappeared.
My instincts screamed.
I spun.
Too late.
Her spear came down.
BOOM!
I barely caught it.
The impact drove me into the ground, my boots carving trenches through the earth.
"Ugh—!"
I shoved the spear away and leapt backward.
My legs nearly gave out beneath me.
I landed several meters away, chest heaving violently.
My clothes were little more than shredded cloth. Blood trickled down my arm, mixing with sweat and dust, while the metallic scent of iron filled the air.
Across from me, Scáthach stood perfectly straight.
Her clothes weren't even wrinkled.
A shallow cut along her cheek closed before my eyes, flesh knitting itself together as if the wound had never existed.
Of course.
Naturally.
I spend six months getting stronger, and my teacher still looks like she just stepped out of a bath.
Scáthach rested her spear against her shoulder.
"That is enough for today."
I nearly collapsed from relief.
"Thank you for the guidance, Teacher."
I bowed deeply.
My voice was exhausted, but my gratitude was genuine.
Scáthach studied me for several seconds.
Then she nodded.
"You have improved enough to begin the second phase of your training."
I blinked.
"Second phase?"
She walked toward a nearby stone and sat upon it, crossing one leg over the other.
Then she gestured for me to sit beside her.
I obeyed.
The moment I sat down, I knew something was different.
Scáthach wasn't looking at me like a sparring partner anymore.
She was looking at me like a teacher.
That alone made me nervous.
"A warrior requires strength," she said. "But strength without discipline is little more than a beast's instinct."
Her crimson eyes turned toward me.
"You have surpassed my expectations in both."
I felt a small swell of pride.
Then she continued.
"But the techniques I intend to teach you cannot be mastered through the sword alone."
She raised one finger.
"You require another weapon."
My curiosity immediately sharpened.
"What kind?"
"Rune Magic."
The words were simple.
My reaction wasn't.
I froze.
Rune Magic?
For a moment, memories from another life surfaced.
A different world.
A different civilization.
A world where magic was studied like mathematics.
Where mana flowed through magic circles.
Where spell construction depended on technique, incantation, visualization, and understanding.
I had spent an entire lifetime thinking about magic.
I had experimented with it.
Analyzed it.
Improved it.
I'd even created techniques that others considered impossible.
But Rune Magic?
Still foggy at best.
"I know the general idea," I said carefully. "But not enough to say I understand it."
Scáthach nodded.
"Then forget what you think you know."
I frowned.
That was not the answer I expected.
"What?"
"Rune Magic is not merely another method of manipulating mana."
Her spear lowered.
The tip touched the dirt.
"Most forms of magic begin with the caster."
She drew a small circle.
"Your will."
A second mark.
"Your understanding."
A third.
"Your mana."
She tapped the ground.
"These are the foundations upon which ordinary magic is built."
I nodded slowly.
That matched what I knew.
Magic required mana, shaped according to the caster's understanding and intent.
Then Scáthach drew another symbol.
This one was different.
It looked old.
Not complicated.
Just... wrong.
My eyes narrowed.
"But Rune Magic doesn't begin with the caster," she continued.
"It begins with the world."
She dragged the spear through the dirt.
"Runes are symbols left behind by the gods. They are fragments of a language that predates the magic known by modern mankind."
My expression changed.
"The language of the gods?"
"Yes."
Scáthach smiled faintly.
"They are not simply symbols."
She placed her palm over the mark.
"They are meaning."
A shiver ran through me.
She stood.
Then, instead of writing in the dirt, she lifted the spear and drew a rune directly into the air.
Purple light followed the tip.
The symbol hovered there, ancient and jagged.
I stared.
That looks like...
My mind raced through the memories of my former life.
Old Norse?
It couldn't be.
Not here.
Not in this world.
Scáthach finished the final stroke.
The atmosphere changed instantly.
The temperature plummeted.
My breath became white.
The air itself seemed to recoil.
Then—
CRACK!
Ice erupted from the ground.
A massive jagged spire burst upward, followed by dozens of smaller pillars that twisted around it like frozen claws.
I stared.
My mouth fell open.
No chant.
No visible magic circle.
Barely any preparation.
And yet the result was enormous.
"That," Scáthach said calmly, "is a Rune."
I swallowed.
"So the Rune itself creates the phenomenon?"
"Not exactly."
She glanced toward me.
"The Rune tells the world what phenomenon must occur."
I frowned.
There was a difference.
A very important one.
"So instead of constructing the spell..." I murmured, "I'm invoking the concept behind it."
Scáthach smiled.
"Exactly."
That answer sent my thoughts racing.
In my old life, I had always approached magic from the perspective of cause.
Mana was the fuel.
Magic circles were the structure.
Visualization was the instruction.
But this...
This was different.
Rune Magic wasn't telling mana what to do.
It was telling reality what something was.
Scáthach turned her spear.
"However, drawing them in the air like this is not how I intend for you to use them."
She ran one finger along the shaft of her spear.
"Watch."
With a single motion, she carved another Rune into the weapon.
The symbol glowed.
My entire body stiffened.
Every instinct I possessed screamed at me.
Danger.
Not the vague danger of an incoming attack.
Something deeper.
Something primal.
The Rune embedded in that spear felt like a rule had just been written into the world.
Scáthach casually threw it.
The spear crossed the distance and struck a massive boulder.
I braced myself for an explosion.
There was none.
The stone simply—
collapsed.
Its surface sagged.
Then its entire body began to crumble inward, turning gray and soft until the boulder became little more than a lifeless mass of sludge.
I stared.
"What... the hell was that?"
"Decomposition."
Scáthach walked toward the ruined boulder and retrieved her spear.
"I carved the concept of decomposition into the weapon."
I looked from the spear to the ruined stone.
"So Runes can create curses?"
"Curses."
She glanced at me.
"Blessings."
She tapped the spear.
"Elements."
Then she met my eyes.
"Enhancement. Suppression. Binding. Destruction."
A pause.
"And concepts."
My eyes widened.
"Concepts?"
"Everything that exists possesses meaning. Runes are the language that defines that meaning."
She stepped closer.
"That is why fools fear them."
I felt a chill run down my spine.
"Then what separates Rune Magic from ordinary magic?"
Scáthach's expression became serious.
"You are still thinking about mana."
I blinked.
"You keep returning to it."
She tapped my chest with one finger.
"You think mana is the source of everything because that is how you learned magic."
She pointed toward the ruined boulder.
"But mana is merely the medium."
Then she pointed toward the sky.
"The world existed before you."
Her finger returned to my chest.
"And it will exist after you."
Her crimson eyes narrowed.
"Rune Magic does not ask your mana to imitate reality."
"It commands reality to obey a principle that already exists."
I went silent.
That...
That was fundamentally different.
My entire magical philosophy was built around the idea that mana was something I manipulated.
But Scáthach was telling me that Rune Magic was closer to giving reality an instruction.
I slowly raised a hand.
"Teacher."
"Yes?"
"I think I understand what you're saying."
She waited.
"But I still don't understand why this is fundamentally different from normal magic."
Scáthach's lips curved upward.
"Good."
I blinked.
"Good?"
"If you accepted the answer without questioning it, you would never master it."
She crouched in front of me.
"Normal magic requires you to understand the phenomenon you wish to create."
Fire.
Water.
Wind.
Stone.
You shape mana according to your understanding of those things.
"But Rune Magic asks a different question."
Her gaze locked onto mine.
"Not How do I create fire?"
My eyes narrowed.
"Then what?"
"What does fire mean?"
My breath caught.
Scáthach continued.
"To wield a Rune is not simply to manipulate energy."
She placed her hand against the spear.
"It is to grasp a truth."
The silence that followed felt heavier than the spear itself.
Then she smiled.
"And once you understand that truth..."
The Rune on her weapon began to glow.
"You can make the world remember it."
My heart began pounding.
For the first time in years, I felt the same excitement I had once felt when discovering a new branch of magic.
Not because Rune Magic was stronger.
Not because it was easier.
But because it was different.
Completely different.
And that meant there was something new to learn.
Something that even the Rudeus of my former life had never known.
I stood immediately.
"Teach me."
Scáthach raised an eyebrow.
"Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?"
"You are exhausted."
"I can still study!"
"You are also bleeding."
I glanced at my arm.
"Oh."
She smiled.
"Tomorrow at dawn. Meet me south of the manor."
She turned away.
"One final warning, Oberon."
I looked up.
"Rune Magic is not something you merely memorize."
Her crimson eyes gleamed over her shoulder.
"You will have to learn how the world speaks."
She paused.
"And then..."
A faint, almost mischievous smile appeared.
"You will learn how to make it listen."
I watched her disappear into the darkness.
For several seconds, I didn't move.
Then I looked down at my trembling hands.
The language of the world...
A grin slowly spread across my face.
For the first time since my rebirth, I felt like I was standing at the beginning of something completely new.
And somehow, that was more frightening than anything the Land of Shadows had thrown at me.
(END)
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