Chapter 91: From Laughter to Blood-Red Fate

The Reliquary,

Inside the Reliquary, the heavy silence after Arin’s departure slowly faded. Durak held the black spear and the white single-edged sword in his rough hands, his blue eyes narrowing as he examined them carefully.

“These…” his deep voice rumbled, “are very special weapons. Even I can’t see their true nature. But one thing I can tell…” He raised his gaze to Ron and Lia. “These two were made to complement each other.”

Ron and Lia exchanged a glance and nodded in quiet understanding.

Ron stepped forward, voice steady. “Then, what will be the price of these two?”

Durak exhaled through his nose, setting the weapons down with care. “Price, huh? Truth is… these weren’t forged by me. They were sold to me a long time ago. So, I can’t set their true value.”

Before the silence could linger, Isilme’s calm voice filled the room. “Ten silver coins each will do.”

Both Ron and Lia blinked in surprise.

“So cheap? No, sir,” Lia quickly said, shaking her head. “If these really complement each other, then their worth must be… enormous, maybe even priceless.”

Ron nodded firmly. “We can’t pay so little for them.”

Durak’s expression hardened. With a sudden thunk, he rapped both of them lightly on the head with his fist.

“You brats.” His serious face cracked into a faint smirk. “You’re friends of little Selene and Jax, aren’t you? Then you’re friends of ours too. Take them at this price—or I won’t give them to you at all.”

Rubbing their heads with sheepish grins, Ron and Lia finally relented. “Then… we’ll gratefully accept.” They placed ten silver coins each on the counter and carefully took the weapons back into their hands.

At that moment, From his pouch, Isilme drew out a staff wrapped in a soft cloth. As he pulled it free, the room seemed to quiet, the faint glow of runes illuminating the space around them.

“Here, Selene. Your staff.”

It was an exquisite staff, crafted from midnight-hued wood, sleek and polished to perfection. Delicate silver runes ran along its length, glowing faintly with a living magical energy. At its head rested a multifaceted crystal, gleaming in a warm amber-gold hue. Its slim, agile design gave the impression of both elegance and deadly precision—suited for etching the finest runes or unleashing spells with expressive flourish.

Isilme held it out toward Selene, his expression softening.

“This staff,” he said, his tone carrying both pride and warmth, “is perfect for you. I designed and crafted it with you in mind—your illusions, your enchantments, your way of weaving runic magic. It will not just serve you… it will grow with you.”

Selene’s breath caught as her hands hovered over the staff, her reflection flickering in the amber crystal. For a moment, even Jax stood silently beside her, watching the light play across her face.

Selene’s fingers closed around the staff—and the instant she touched it, a soft resonance pulsed through her. The amber crystal shimmered, responding to her aura like a heartbeat in sync. Her lips curled into a bright smile, and before she could stop herself, she leapt forward and hugged Isilme tightly.

“Thank you, Grandpa! You’re the best!!!”

The old elf chuckled faintly, though his eyes glistened with the pride he didn’t voice.

Off to the side, Jax scratched his cheek and muttered in a shamelessly hopeful tone, “Well… is there… something for me?”

Durak’s blue eyes narrowed like daggers. “Brat, don’t you already have the custom guns I forged with my own hands?”

Jax snapped his mouth shut instantly. Selene broke into giggles, and even Ron and Lia smirked at the sight.

But Durak suddenly rubbed his chin, muttering, “Hmm… actually, give them here. Your guns.”

Jax dropped to his knees dramatically, clutching them as if shielding children. “Noooo! Don’t take my babies, Grandpa, please!”

A sharp thwack landed on his head. “Shut it, brat! I’m not stealing them. I’m upgrading them.” Durak yanked the guns from his grip while Jax rolled on the floor groaning, “My poor head…”

Moments later, the pounding of hammer against metal echoed from the backroom, mingling with bursts of enchantment sparks. When Durak finally returned, the air seemed to hum around him.

In his hands gleamed Jax’s newly upgraded guns—masterpieces reborn. The obsidian frames now bore thin, luminous veins of enchanted gold tracing swirling patterns from grip to barrel. The runes etched along their sides glowed brighter, pulsing with stored magic. Each muzzle flared outward like the jagged jaws of mythical beasts, faint emerald light flickering within. Midnight-blue leather grips were now reinforced with silver filigree and embedded crystals that shifted colors with the chosen magic.

Durak set them on the counter with a grunt. “Efficiency and magic speed—up by fifteen percent.”

Jax’s eyes sparkled. He scooped up the twin guns reverently. “My babies… they got an upgrade!!!” He spun them in his hands, flicked them back into his holsters, then drew them again in a smooth flourish, grinning like a child on festival day.

“They’re perfect! Thanks, Grandpa Durak—you’re the best!”

“Hmph,” Durak snorted, crossing his arms. “Don’t flatter me, brat. I only did it because I discovered a new enchantment method and needed a test subject.”

But even then, Jax’s grin never dimmed.

Isilme’s sharp eyes swept across the group, then softened into a small smile.

“Alright. I believe everyone’s gotten what they came here for. You should return to your academy now.”

Isilme adjusted his glasses, watching them gather their things. “Remember—treat those weapons with respect.”

Lia and Ron both bowed their heads. “Thank you, Master Isilme. Master durak. For everything.”

Isilme’s calm smile deepened. “No need for thanks. Just keep walking forward. Call us Grandpa ”

Durak crossed his arms, a gruff huff escaping him. “And don’t you brats go breaking what I just gave you, or I’ll drag you back here by the ears.”

Jax flinched, holding his guns protectively. “Y-yes, sir!”

Selene laughed and gave the dwarf a quick hug. “We’ll take care of everything, Grandpa Durak. Promise.”

The four exchanged glances—each one holding something new, something precious.

Lia’s hand brushed against the hilt of her gleaming white single-edged sword, its aura calm yet sharp as her gaze. Ron rested the black spear against his shoulder, confidence radiating from him. Selene clutched her golden-amber staff close, the crystal humming gently in tune with her magic. And Jax… Jax was busy showering his twin guns with kisses until Selene yanked his head away with an exasperated sigh.

Despite their antics, all of them wore smiles.

Selene raised her hand, and with a flicker of runic light, their carriage rumbled into view. The door swung open, and one by one, they climbed inside—Ron and Lia settling opposite each other, Selene dragging Jax in before he could start polishing his guns again.

As it rolled up, they waved one last time—Ron lifting his spear in salute, Lia dipping her head respectfully, Selene smiling warmly, and Jax blowing a dramatic kiss that earned him another flick to the head by selene.

The wheels clattered against the cobblestones as the carriage rolled away from the Reliquary. The shop grew smaller in the distance, but the warmth of its forge and the weight of their new weapons lingered with them.

Back to Astralis Arcanum. Back to the academy.

Meanwhile,

In the dim, deserted streets of the city, a tattered figure stumbled forward.

Arin.

His once neat tawny-brown hair hung loose and disheveled, plastered to his face by sweat. His leafy-green eyes—once glowing with pride and arrogance—were now hollow, stripped of their vitality. His steps dragged, shoes scraping against the uneven stone path.

“I… failed…” he muttered under his breath, the words rasping like a curse.

“Failed… again… It’s… impossible…”

His fists trembled, still caked with dried blood from earlier, but there was no strength in them. Only the weight of humiliation.

“It should… be mine… I… am…” his lips quivered, his voice breaking into a hollow whisper.

“I… am… prota…goni…st…”

Each word fell weaker, his chest tightening with disbelief and despair. He leaned against a cold wall, head dropping, shoulders shaking as the crushing reality gnawed deeper into him.

The echo of laughter, of weapons being chosen, of smiles that didn’t include him, burned like acid in his ears.

He slid down to the ground, gripping his head with both hands, muttering over and over—

“I… am… I… am… I… am…”

But with every repetition, the words rang emptier.

He collapsed to his knees on the cold cobbles. Tears carved clean tracks down his cheeks as he whispered to the empty night.

“Why… why did this happen to me?” His voice trembled, barely more than a ragged breath. “Where did I go wrong…? I was— I was so lucky. After the system, everything came easy. I kept getting stronger… I got everything I wanted…”

For a moment the words dissolved into sobs. Then his face hardened, the hurt curdling into something black and bright.

“My whole life was fine… until I met him.” He spat the name like a curse. “Ron Volkov.”

Anger flared, hot and hungry, and it swallowed the grief. The trembling became a roar.

“It was him! It’s him who took everything!” Arin screamed into the empty street, voice ricocheting off stone. “My victories… my fate… Lia… that spear—if not for him, I would have had it all,Lia in my bed with me ,spear in my hands, everything!!!!!”

The words shredded his reason. In the hollow of his chest something else stirred — a voice like oil and iron, low and coaxing, slipping through the cracks of his mind.

“Yes…” it whispered.

“Kill… him…”

The suggestion slid into him with poisonous ease. The tremor in Arin’s jaw steadied, his eyes going glassy as the madness threaded into his thoughts.

“Yes,” he repeated, as if consoling himself. “If he dies… if Ron Volkov disappears… everything will be mine again. Lia… the spear… my story… all of it.”

A laugh bubbled up, sharp and unhinged, cutting through the night air. The inner voice fed the frenzy, each whisper tightening its hold.

“Kill… Ron…”

“Kill… Him…”

“Get… Everything…”

Arin echoed it, feeling the word like a blade forming in his mouth. His mind raced — plans assembling from anger, from hurt, from the hungry need to be whole again. He rose to his feet slowly, body still shaking, a thin, terrible smile creeping across his face.

“I will kill him,” he said, the vow tasting of iron and ash. “I’ll make sure nothing is left for him. Then I’ll take everything.”

A sudden flash stabbed the air – a blood-red window blossomed before Arin’s eyes, pulsing like a wound. White letters burned across the pane:

[(MISSION)

Objective: KILL RON

Reward: EVERYTHING]

The words hovered, cold and absolute, as if the system itself had answered the voice inside him.

Without another glance at the ruined street, he stalked away into the darkness, footsteps swallowed by the city as the sinister whisper lingered in his ears like a promise.

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