The Runesmith

Chapter 650: Peculiar Class.

The onlookers parted as three figures forced their way through. They clearly carried some authority here, as once they were recognized, the other adventurers stepped aside without complaint. They wore a mishmash of high-grade plate and reinforced leather, but what truly drew the eye were the heavy, circular iron badges pinned to their chests.

“Those people are…”

Roland’s gaze settled on one of the badges. It depicted a sword and hammer crossed against one another and was made of actual silver. These individuals were known as the Stronghold Watch, a militia formed by certain adventurers that acted as a kind of policing force. Though they were not part of any regular army, here they fulfilled the role of guardsmen and even held the authority to imprison people. Above ground, they had no power, but within the third ring of the dungeon, they were the law.

Name:

Renata L 281

Classes:

T3 High-Spirit Swordmaster 31

T3 Spirit Swordmaster L100

T2 Advanced Spirit Swordsman L50

T2 Spirit Swordsman L50

T1 Sword Warrior L25

T1 Warrior L25

He focused on the woman called Renata, who appeared to be the leader of the group and had the highest level among them. She was already in her second tier-three class, which meant she was likely a Mithril-grade adventurer. Renata’s class choices were solid, though not particularly exceptional.

Spirit was a lesser form of Aura, and she had been unable to achieve the higher manifestation of that path. Nevertheless, she still possessed two tier three classes, an accomplishment achieved by very few. Her main weapon appeared to be a greatsword strapped to her back, and she wore a half plate suit of armor made of enchanted mithril.

Her frame was on the larger side but still within human limits. Compared to the barbarian woman in Harphonʼs spatial storage, she was slightly shorter and lacked some of that muscularity. Her hair was red and tied in a ponytail, and her skin tone was on the tanned side.

The lead adventurer surveyed the scene. Her eyes lingered on the cratered earth and the twisted, unconscious form of the quarter-orc man.

”Move along! The show’s over!”

She shouted, her voice carrying practiced authority. It was clear she was used to scenes like this.

“Unless any of you want to spend the night in the hole, get back to your drinks and your contracts.”

The crowd, sensing the shift in the air, began to disperse with grumbled complaints. The Stronghold Watch was a rough and tumble militia, but they were the only thing resembling law in this lawless place, and they were notoriously short-tempered.

Roland had been surveying the area with the help of his drones and knew that if he tried to fight any of them, they would quickly swarm him. However, while they were powerful as a group, they did not usually go out of their way to arrest people. Most of the time, when a fight broke out, they took in the one who lost and merely reprimanded the other party. Roland had not started the confrontation, but that did not mean he would escape consequences.

“You two, get him to the cloister.”

The woman ordered her companions, gesturing to the broken man.

“The clerics should be able to patch him up, and do not forget to charge him for the bill. Sell his gear if you do not have enough coins.”

Roland did not say anything as he stepped back from the scene of the crime. Millie and Ermes were not talking. Both of them knew the tier-three class holders would ignore their input, and complaining would only make things worse.

“You there. I have not seen you around these parts. Are you new?”

As the two men hauled the mangled hoodlum toward the stone spires of the nearby cloister, the woman turned her attention to Roland’s group. Her hand did not move toward her sword, but her stance was coiled and ready.

“And you. Aren’t you one of Hasim’s men? Didn’t you go missing?”

To Roland’s surprise, the watch leader seemed to recognize Ermes. The name Hasim was also familiar to him. Hasim was the master runesmith who lived here, the leader of the craftsmen in the stronghold, with other master enchantsmiths working under him.

Ermes flinched when the watch leader noticed him, his shoulders tensing as if an old wound had been pressed. Millie clutched his sleeve even tighter, peeking out from behind him with red, wary eyes.

“I… I did go missing.”

Ermes said hoarsely.

“But I managed to come back, so everything is fine.”

Renata raised an eyebrow and finally gave him a more thorough look. The bruising around his neck, the way his breathing still hitched, and the tears in the young girl’s eyes did not go unnoticed.

“Hm. Are you sure you want to go with that? Isn’t there more to this?”

Roland stood in silence, clearly seeing what was happening. The woman was fishing for answers and accusations. While most noncombatant class holders were treated like second-class citizens, they still had their rights. It seemed she wanted to hear a direct accusation of a crime being committed, something that would allow her to punish the perpetrator.

“Y-yes, that’s all. I just got lost for a while, but now I’m back. Everything is fine.”

For a moment, it seemed as though Ermes might tell her the truth, but the words that came out were anything but. It was clear that the blacksmith did not trust the woman or believed that if he spoke, he would be silenced instantly.

Roland had managed to scan the area, but the stronghold was still a mystery. He had no idea who was working with whom. Often, if a person simply did not speak out, they were left alone. This woman could easily be working for whoever had ordered the man to be tossed outside and left for dead.

As far as Roland could tell, the entire situation was some kind of power move by whoever stood behind that orcish man. Everything seemed to revolve around Ermes’ boss, Hasim, potentially ignoring an order for weapons or gear, perhaps to repair them or to craft something new from materials recently obtained in the dungeon.

Finding rare materials in a dungeon was not unusual, but not everyone could turn them into something powerful. Roland was a craftsman himself and could instantly produce weapons, armor, and enchantments suited to his combat style, but most adventurers could not. Even if they found the massive horn of a tier four dragon, they would likely be unable to make use of it.

Creating something from such a material would require either a tier four craftsman or a large team of tier three craftsmen working together for weeks or even months. On top of that, reputable blacksmiths had long waiting lists and would not push existing deadlines aside, even for clients offering more money. It was not surprising that some adventurers would grow furious when rejected, and in this world, people had been killed for far less.

Renata’s eyes narrowed, her gaze lingering on the dark purple bruises around Ermes’s throat. She wasnʼt a fool; she probably knew that he was lying. But in the Stronghold, if the victim refused to point a finger, the Watch rarely bothered to do detective work on their own.

”Suit yourself, Blacksmith, if you change your mind, you know where to find me now for you, stranger…”

She turned her attention back to Roland. Her hand rested casually on the pommel of her greatsword, a subtle reminder that this could turn into a fight at any moment.

”And you. You’ve got a heavy hand for a newcomer. Breaking bones is one thing, but using magic to crater the street? That’s property damage. This isnʼt a battlefield, leave some of that for once you’re outside, got it?”

“I understand. I will try to restrain myself from now on.”

“Good.”

Just as he thought, the adventurers here did not care much for peaceful resolutions. He also was not the one who started the fight, which put him in a better position, and for the time being, he was off the hook.

Renata nodded lightly, seemingly satisfied with his compliance, though her eyes lingered on the intricate craftsmanship of Roland’s gauntlets. A woman of her level knew the difference between decorative parade armor and functional, high tier gear. Roland, for his part, kept his posture neutral, his sensors still mapping the mana signatures of the remaining Watch members nearby and adding them to his already large database of this dungeon layer.

“See that you do.”

She added, her tone dropping an octave.

“We do not care much for heroes here, but we care even less for people who make extra work for the mending crews. Stay out of trouble, or you might find yourself in the hole...”

“The hole?”

He asked, unsure of what it meant.

“That’s just what we call the dungeon here. Since we are already inside one, we decided to give it its own name… By dungeon, I mean the holding cell, not the… well, you know what I mean.”

She shrugged while Roland just nodded at the response.

“Well then, stranger, stay out of trouble.”

With a sharp whistle to her subordinates, she turned on her heel and began to clear out the remaining stragglers. The tension in the area started to fade, and Ermes could finally let out a long breath of relief. His knees buckled slightly under the stress, but his daughter was there to catch him.

“Let’s go inside. Mom has been worried sick.”

To Roland, it seemed the girl was unwilling to let go of her father, as if he might vanish the moment she did. After a moment, Roland turned his attention to her, bringing up her status screen and noticed something unusual. She was the daughter of a tier two armorsmith and an inn worker, but her class was far more distinctive.

Name:

Millie L 4

Classes:

T1 Mana Calligrapher L4

‘Now that’s a peculiar class…’

The class name sounded similar to Mana Scribe, a path many mages took during tier one and one that aspiring runesmiths also had to pick up along the way. This, however, was different. It was not combat-oriented, but potentially a variant of Mana Scribe granted to crafters instead.

‘If this class is what I think it is… could it be a shortcut to getting the Enchantsmith class or the Runesmith class?’

Roland had little to go on beyond the name itself, but class naming conventions usually followed certain rules, and the names were often clues. If she progressed far enough and later picked up the blacksmith class, she might even qualify for one of those advanced classes at level fifty, something ordinary runesmiths could not achieve.

That made the class exceedingly rare, perhaps one in a hundred thousand, or even rarer. To make matters more intriguing, she appeared to be concealing it with an accessory, one similar to what Roland himself had used in the past.

That was not surprising. Rare classes were highly coveted in this world. If word spread that Millie was special, it could invite serious trouble, even kidnapping. At the same time, with the right mentor and sufficient protection, it could set her on a path to a remarkably prosperous future.

‘Her level is only four, though, quite low for her age.’

From his experience, the work of a mana scribe typically involved crafting scrolls. That required specialized ink and, more importantly, a large amount of mana. There was a reason Mana Scribe was usually taken as a second tier-one class rather than a first. It demanded that the mage already have a developed mana pool.

For someone who gained a crafting variant of this class as their first, the process would be extremely difficult. With such limited mana reserves, she might not even be able to produce the simplest scroll, making progression slow or nearly impossible. Yet she was already level four, which meant she had found some way to advance. Most likely, she relied on costly resources such as mana potions or enchanted items to temporarily boost her mana.

‘Having those isn’t cheap, and her father is only a tier two.’

Roland could not help but speculate on why her father had brought her here. Perhaps he was seeking help from the resident runesmith, or perhaps he was trying to earn more money to support the expenses of scroll production. Hasim likely knew nothing about this. If he had, he would have ensured Millie’s protection after her father went missing. That led Roland to believe both parents were keeping her class a secret, and that no one suspected the daughter of a blacksmith and an inn owner possessed such an extraordinarily rare class.

“I-I’m fine, Millie. First, let’s both thank Mr. Siegfried for helping us.”

Ermes managed to gather himself and turned to Roland, who had helped them as well. Millie glanced his way and lowered her head in appreciation, but just as she was about to speak, he raised his hand to interrupt them.

“That’s fine. I was just fulfilling my contract.”

That was his cover for helping them, since they had not fully completed their mission until they reached the main guild building, received their rewards, and had their papers stamped.

Once his hand was raised and his black runic gauntlet came fully into view, he noticed something else. Millie’s gaze was fixed on it, as if she were entranced. When he moved his hand to the other side, he saw her eyes follow it with strange intent. She was like a cat watching a toy being waved back and forth, caught in a trance.

“Do you like armor, or magic runes?”

“Runes? Huh? I… oh gosh, I’m so sorry.”

Millie finally snapped out of it when she realized she had been staring at his runic gauntlet. She shook her head furiously, her face turning slightly pale, as if she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

“...”

“It’s fine, but for now, until the mission is over and everyone is accounted for, I’ll need your father to come with me.”

Roland said it neutrally, as he always did. While he wished he could leave the man at home, he still had to act as though this was the reason he was helping the two of them. Ermes did not seem to mind, but his daughter clearly did.

“You’re taking him away again?”

Millie’s voice cracked, her small hands curling into fists as she clutched her father’s tunic.

“But he just got back, and Mom still hasn’t…”

“Millie, it’s all right.”

Ermes said gently, placing his large, callused hand on her shoulder in reassurance.

“He’s right. There are protocols. If I don’t report back to the guild and the master, I’ll only cause more trouble for Mr. Siegfried. He’s just making sure the job is finished properly.”

Roland looked at the girl. Her reaction was understandable. In a place where people regularly vanished into the dark corners of the dungeon, going with someone rarely meant coming back.

“Then… then I’m coming with you!”

She declared it to both her father and Roland.

“That’s fine with me. Let’s go, then.”

“Mr. Siegfried is right, you should stay here and… wait, what?”

“She can come. It doesn’t matter.”

To Ermes’s surprise, Roland truly did not care whether Millie came along or not. He was still intrigued by her status screen and the class she possessed. Allowing her to accompany them gave him a convenient excuse to examine her more closely and fully assess her current skills.

“Mr. Siegfried, you’re a swell guy!”

Millie beamed, the tears from moments ago completely gone.

“Come on, Papa. Are those the people you were with?”

She pointed toward Harphon and Varek, who were still waiting nearby with the others, her smile as bright as ever. When he returned, a few of them cast glances his way, but most kept their thoughts to themselves. The display of power he had shown was not something they could challenge, so any complaints stayed unspoken.

“That was really something, Siegfried. Unconventional, but highly effective.”

Harphon’s comment marked the end of it, and soon the entire group was on their way to the guild building. Roland was certain the encounter would be reported to every major figure in the stronghold. He was likely to become infamous, with many eyes watching his next move. It was a departure from his usual subtle approach, but that was the point. Drawing attention away from the family would make them focus on finding out who he was and help him identify his enemies more easily.