The Runic Alchemist

Moondancer layered shrouds of darkness around her, shielding her true body from the scorching flames. Step by labored step, she moved out of the fire pillar's range. Meanwhile, Damian worked quickly, weaving another wormhole spell to trap her and send her on a long, distant journey.

But then, something changed.

The mana signature hurtling toward him at blinding speed shifted.

What had been a faint, almost ordinary flicker of mana—similar to everyone else's—exploded into something massive and overwhelming. A change in the mana core? That shouldn't have been possible.

Damian looked toward the emperor, searching for answers, and what he saw made him stop cold. His eyes widened, and he blinked twice to confirm the impossible sight before him.

A colossal red dragon was soaring through the sky, heading directly toward them.

"The Emperor… became a dragon? What the hell?"

'Fuck! How does a huge dragon fly faster than a man?'

He didn't have a minute and a half—he didn't even have thirty seconds.

Moondancer was escaping, every second counting against him. Damian had time for only one spell. But what? A barrier dome to protect everyone? That wouldn't hold against two third-rankers. Abandon everything and make a run for it? He could save only one group that way—Einar and the others locked in battle, or Lucian's group further from the waygate.

Damian banished the frantic thoughts and focused.

His hands moved, weaving two runic spells simultaneously. The wormhole spell finished first, opening near the waygate with its endpoint at Lucian's position. For the second spell, Damian channeled the full force of his mana threads, directing them into a single attack. The temperature around him plummeted.

In an instant, a colossal ice structure—twenty meters thick and over forty meters high—encased Moondancer like a frozen sculpture.

Without pause, Damian activated his flying spell, propelling himself toward the monstrous dragon roaring in the distance.

Fire was useless against the beast, and Damian knew it. The dragon opened its massive maw, preparing to unleash a torrent of flames larger and hotter than anything his spear could counter. He discarded the spear, summoning a thick runic shield instead.

There was no time for another spell. He pushed every ounce of mana he could muster into the runic shield, positioning it to intercept the fiery onslaught. So high up, maintaining so many mana threads across such a distance was taking its toll. The strain had significantly diminished his mana output. Even so, it was enough to conjure a massive five-inch-thick air shield, shielding him from the scorching, powerful torrent of fire the dragon unleashed directly at him.

The air shield cracked and shattered within seconds, but Damian forced everything else from his mind, focusing with unrelenting intensity on creating new layers as fast as the old ones failed. The fire seemed endless, a relentless torrent. His mana reserves were vast, stored in liters within his ship's storage, but the true limit wasn't the supply—it was how much his body could endure and how quickly he could channel it.

Blood trickled from his nose, his hands went numb, but Damian refused to yield. He kept building layer after layer of air shields, each one a lifeline. If he was forced back now, the fire would consume his friends and destroy the ship.

He couldn't fall here.

"AGHHHHGHHHH!!"

With a final desperate push, Damian poured every ounce of his strength into holding the line. And then, suddenly—it ended.

The fire was gone.

Through his burning, tear-filled eyes, Damian blinked against the haze. His hands continued weaving instinctively, maintaining his guard. The attack hadn't concluded—it had been stopped.

The dragon… was staring at him.

The massive creature's unblinking eyes fixed on Damian, scrutinizing him as if seeing something unexpected. Then, right before his eyes, the dragon began to change. Its colossal form shifted and compressed until, in place of the beast, stood a man.

He was dressed in the flowing garments of a traditional Persian king. His olive skin, obsidian-black hair, and chiseled, angular features exuded an aura of power and command. His presence embodied the very image of the legendary ruler Damian had heard about in whispered tales.

So this is the Emperor Yong Sheng Long, Damian thought.

"You're a first-ranker… and a child, no less." The emperor's voice was deep, resonating with confusion and curiosity.

Damian coughed, spitting blood from his mouth, his hands still weaving the intricate runes. "Did you not see the world torn by wars back there? Why are you so adamant about destroying everything here too?" he asked, his voice hoarse but resolute.

The emperor's eyes widened in surprise but narrowed a moment later, realization dawning. "Morph Vialist? You're from home, aren't you? I suspected as much..."

Damian held his gaze, completing the final strokes of three runic circles and holding them steady.

"You have power! You're the emperor!" Damian said, louder than he intended. "You could have transformed the empire into something better—changed the lives of your people for the good! Or at the very least, you could have enjoyed the wealth and fame that fate handed you. Instead, you choose destruction!"

"You know nothing, kid. How long have you been here? Five years? Ten?" The emperor's voice was sharp, almost dismissive. "I've been here for over fifty. You think I didn't want to do all that? I rooted out the corruption in politics, made life in the empire better than anywhere else! But it wasn't enough.

There are too many kingdoms here, too many power-hungry lords, all with their own agendas, constantly interfering with us. Endless, lifelong conflicts on our borders, where we lose men every day. Slavers, protected by their noble patrons. The damned Highswords—demanding tribute while offering nothing in return.

The emperor's voice deepened, tinged with both anger and frustration. "They may have the resources to live comfortably, but life in the empire is already hard enough. We're fighting just to survive every day, and we don't need their interference, making it even worse."

He gritted his teeth, his gaze dropping to the giant, glowing blue waygate before flicking back to Damian, his eyes sharp and dangerous.

"No, my young friend, there is no peace here. There will never be peace until I seize all of their power. They are animals, and strength is the only language they understand. There will be only one empire."