CHAPTER 90: RUNIC BODY [3]

Oliver groaned as consciousness crept back to him. Every muscle in his body ached — not sharp pain, but a deep soreness that felt like he’d wrestled a mountain in his sleep. His breath came slow and heavy as his mind clawed its way out of the fog.

He opened his eyes to the faint morning light spilling through the half-drawn curtains. The room smelled faintly of iron and herbs. On either side of him, Isolde and Serena were fast asleep — Isolde slumped gracefully against the headboard, arms folded, while Serena lay curled up near the foot of the bed, her hair messy, her apron still half on from the night before.

Oliver blinked, then smirked tiredly. "Heh... so much for not letting the sheets get stained."

The bedsheets were a mess — streaked with faint traces of dried blood and mana residue, the aftermath of last night’s ritual. He stretched gingerly, wincing as a dull ache rippled across his back, and muttered, "Yup... definitely feels like I got mauled by something."

Careful not to wake them, he slipped out of bed and padded quietly toward the washroom. The cold stone floor bit into his bare feet, the contrast oddly grounding.

Inside, he leaned over the basin, splashing cool water on his face before glancing up at the mirror. His reflection looked pale but alive — his hair a mess, dark circles under his eyes, but his breathing was steady.

He turned slightly, craning his neck to see his back. For a moment, he expected to see the faintly glowing lines, the scars, something. But his skin was smooth — no marks, no traces of blood, nothing at all. It was as if the rune never existed.

"Figures," he murmured dryly. "Pain like hell, and not even a cool scar to show for it."

He washed up, ran a hand through his hair, and returned to the room. By then, Serena was gone — probably already downstairs tending to the inn — and Isolde was sitting on the edge of the bed, half-awake, stretching her arms with a lazy yawn.

Her eyes fluttered open, and a faint smile tugged at her lips. "Morning."

Oliver smirked. "So much for your numbing spell."

Isolde chuckled softly, brushing her hair over her shoulder. "It worked, didn’t it? You didn’t scream once."

"Yeah, because I was knocked out cold," Oliver retorted, rolling his eyes.

Her smile widened, amused. "Details, details."

He sighed, then started pacing lightly around the room, rolling his shoulders. "Still... I feel good. Extremely good." He did a few stretches, then lunges. "Actually, I feel... light. Like I could run a marathon or punch a bear."

"That’s the Rune of Vigor for you," Isolde said, standing and walking closer, her tone curious. "Seems your body adapted well."

Oliver grinned. "So it was a success?"

"There’s only one way to find out." Her voice turned mischievous.

He blinked. "Wait, what do you—"

Before he could finish, Isolde produced a small silver knife from behind her back and, without hesitation, slashed a line across his forearm.

"Ouch! What the hell!?" Oliver yelped, yanking his arm back. "Warn me next time, woman!"

Isolde ignored his outburst and took his wrist firmly, turning it toward the light.

Oliver opened his mouth to complain again — then stopped.

The wound was knitting itself shut before his eyes. Flesh closing, blood drying, skin sealing perfectly in seconds. Not even a scar remained.

Isolde released his arm, nodding in approval. "Looks like your body accepted the rune completely. The effect is stable."

Oliver flexed his hand, still half in disbelief. "You could’ve tested it with, I don’t know, a smaller cut? Maybe a scratch? You didn’t need to go full knife-on-flesh!"

She tilted her head innocently. "Where’s the fun in that?"

He groaned. "The pain was real, you know."

"Quit whining," she said with a smirk, stepping toward the door. "If you can complain this much, you’re fine. I’m going downstairs."

As she left, Oliver looked at his reflection again, running a hand over his now flawless arm. He couldn’t help but smile faintly — a mix of relief, pride, and a spark of excitement.

"Rune of Vigor, huh?" Oliver murmured, rubbing his neck. "Let’s see how much of a difference it actually made."

He called out softly, "Status."

A soft blue shimmer unfolded before him — the familiar translucent panel lighting up the room with its cool glow.

Name: Oliver Shaw

Class 1: Linguist (F-Rank), Runesmith (Unranked)

Level: 41

HP: ??? / ???

MP: 378 / 378

Strength: 163

Endurance: 189

Agility: 132

Intelligence: 204

Runic Body: Active (Stage 1)

Skills:

• ✦ Language Comprehension – Understand and speak any language.

• ✧ Basic Rune Carving – Allows inscription of elementary runes onto metal, wood, or stone. (Accuracy affects success rate.)

• ✦ Mana Channeling – 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.

• ✦ Runic Body – The bearer’s form is harmonized with rune circuits. Greatly enhances vitality, stamina recovery, and natural healing. Grants resistance to fatigue and minor ailments.

"HP... undefined," he muttered, frowning slightly. Then he grinned. "Guess even the system gave up trying to keep up."

His hand brushed across his chest as he exhaled. His skin tingled faintly — warmth and power thrumming just beneath it. He felt... different. Lighter, sharper, alive.

He flexed his hand, watching faint lines of blue light briefly ripple under his skin before fading. "This is insane," he whispered, unable to hide the excitement.

He slipped into his clothes, splashed some water on his face, and went downstairs.

The Velvet Hearth was already half awake. The aroma of baked bread, butter, and fried eggs filled the air. The clatter of dishes and soft hum of morning chatter mixed with the smell of wood polish and faint ale.

Serena was behind the counter, her hair tied loosely, already multitasking — serving a sleepy traveler with one hand while scolding a young helper with the other.

At their usual corner table, Isolde sat with a cup of steaming tea, her posture perfect as always. She wore a light white tunic and pale leggings, her long silver hair catching the early sunlight.

Oliver approached, yawning. "Morning."

"Morning," Isolde said without looking up from the parchment in her hand. "You look like you actually slept."

"I did," he replied, grabbing a slice of bread. "Though honestly, I feel like I could run ten laps around the city right now."

"Careful," she said dryly. "I might make you prove that."

Serena appeared beside them, placing a plate piled with eggs, toast, and butter. "Try running after this. Let’s see how fast you last."

"Thanks, Serena," Oliver said, his mouth already full.

"You’re welcome," she said with mock sweetness, "and don’t eat like an animal in my inn."

Isolde chuckled softly. "He’s too happy with his newfound strength."

"Well, it’s the first time I woke up without my back hurting in weeks," Oliver replied.

As he reached for his cup, the bell over the door jingled. A soft, confident voice followed.

"Good morning."

They turned to see Ariana entering — her auburn hair gleaming in the light, tied neatly at the back. She wore clean robes today, the deep blue of her mage’s uniform accentuating her slender frame. Her violet eyes swept the room before landing on Oliver, brightening as she smiled.

"Morning," Oliver said, standing to greet her. "Right on time."

"Good," she said, returning the smile. "I was worried I might interrupt breakfast."

"Then join us," Serena said warmly. "No adventurer should start their day on an empty stomach."

"Oh, I wouldn’t want to—"

"Sit," Serena interrupted, already setting a plate down. "That wasn’t a suggestion."

Ariana blinked, then laughed softly. "Understood."

She sat beside Isolde, offering her a polite nod. "Miss Isolde, right? I’ve heard quite a bit about you."

Isolde looked up, meeting her gaze. Her tone was calm but cool. "I imagine so."

Oliver coughed lightly, trying to ease the sudden tension. "Right, introductions. Ariana, this is Isolde — S-rank mage, rune genius, terrifying morning person. Isolde, this is Ariana, the mage who helped me in that goblin mess."

Isolde raised an eyebrow. "Helped, hm? From what I heard, you were the one saving her."

Ariana smiled modestly. "It was teamwork. Without his spells, I wouldn’t be here. I only returned the favor."

"That’s good to hear," Isolde said, her expression softening slightly. "He does need people who can keep him alive."

"Hey," Oliver muttered, half-offended. "I can keep myself alive just fine."

Serena chuckled from behind the counter. "Sure, and I’m a dragon in disguise."

They ate together — light chatter drifting between bites. Ariana shared snippets about her old academy life, curious about their runic work; Isolde critiqued the tea for being too weak; and Oliver tried not to choke when Serena made pointed remarks about "late-night training sessions."

When they finally finished, Isolde stood first, dusting off her skirt. "We should get going. The guild gets crowded before noon."

"Yeah," Oliver agreed, stretching. "Let’s see if Lena has something that doesn’t involve goblins this time."

Ariana smiled faintly. "You might be asking for too much."

They all laughed softly as they left — the door swinging shut behind them, the sound of Serena’s voice calling out, "And don’t come back covered in blood again!"

The morning sunlight washed over the cobblestone streets as the three of them made their way toward the guild — their steps light, their spirits high, and the faint buzz of adventure already hanging in the air.