Chapter 43: Rune of Life

Ash moved silently, his footsteps barely making a sound on the blood-slicked stone. He crept closer to the lifeless bodies, carefully avoiding the gaze of the unmoving stone soldiers, whose eyes, once fierce, now stood empty and cold.

His cloak fluttered slightly as he stepped into the shadows, becoming one with the darkness as he searched.

The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood, the silence almost suffocating.

His fingers brushed over the broken bodies, feeling the coolness of death, the weight of the blood-soaked fabric under his touch.

He had never done this before, but he didn't get repulsed by the horrible sight in front of him.

Just then a faint glimmer caught his eye.

There, in the pool of blood, a space ring gleamed. He collected it and searched for other one, no after long he found other one too.

He took them, each ring fitting easily into his palm, their coolness a stark contrast to the warmth of the blood surrounding him.

Got them, he thought, but before he could retreat, something unexpected happened. The shadow he was hiding in flickered, as if almost dissipating.

He had pushed his luck too far, as a result he was kicked out of the shadows.

His heart skipped a beat as his body almost became visible to the stone soldiers.

But he hurriedly dove behind a small pile of dead bodies, instinctively huddling into the gruesome shelter, his pulse quickening.

He waited, the cool weight of the rings heavy against his chest, his eyes scanning for any sign of movement from the stone sentinels.

Minutes felt like hours as he lay in wait, blending into the blood-soaked remains of the fallen.

The soldiers remained motionless, but Ash knew better than to assume he was safe for long. His heart drummed in his ears, but he refused to let fear take over.

At last, after what felt like an eternity, the cooldown for his cloak passed, and the shadows once again embraced him. His body seemed to melt into the darkness as the last flickers of tension in his chest ebbed away.

Let's hurry, he thought, slipping back into the shadows, his movements smooth and calculated.

He returned to his previous position behind the pillar, taking a steady breath. The stone soldiers never once looked in his direction, their gaze unblinking, relentless.

As he leaned his back against the pillar, the weight of the rings pressed against his chest, it reminded him of what he had come for.

But something heavier weighed on him, something that gnawed at his insides. The emptiness was still there, lurking, but now... it was growing, spreading like a shadow of its own, slowly but surely.

Sigh... He pushed the thought away, unwilling to face it now. There would be time for reflection later. For now, he needed to stay sharp, to keep moving, to survive.

Well, at least now I have two space rings, he thought feeling a little better.

He rummaged through the space rings, fingers gliding over trinkets and valuables, until his eyes landed on what he sought: a leaf of the World Tree placed in a transparent container, its edges glowing faintly, and a crystalline vial containing the essence of a rare creature—the kind that could disappear from plain sight like a whisper fading into silence.

The Rune of Concealment can wait, he mused, putting the vial back in the space ring. It'll be more useful in the cloak form, I will fuse with it after leaving this cursed place. But as for this…

His gaze shifted to the leaf, the glow pulsing softly like a heartbeat in the dark.

He slipped the Ring of Healing from his finger, feeling its warmth fade almost instantly. Without hesitation, he brought the World Tree leaf closer.

The moment it touched the ring, the leaf liquefied, a viscous emerald fluid seeping into the metal like lifeblood.

The ring greedily drank the liquid, absorbing it until its once-pale surface deepened into a vibrant, pulsing green.

Ash's breathing slowed. The surrounding air grew charged, static curling around his skin.

Wordlessly, he stripped down to nothing but his shadow cloak. His bare form stood pale and battered under the dim light.

His ribs peeked beneath the skin like jagged ridges; his arms were swollen at the joints, the flesh purpled from training abuse. Long, ugly bruises crept up his legs like ink spilled down canvas.

Did I push my body too much?, he questioned himself but getting no response, he ignored it.

Yet, standing there exposed and broken, Ash felt... nothing. The sight of his mangled flesh barely stirred him. Instead, a hollow acceptance gnawed at the edges of his mind.

Ignoring the warning bells from his injuries, he retrieved a one-handed sword from the space ring and drew its edge across his finger.

Blood welled sluggishly before dripping onto the ring. It shivered at his offering, as if tasting something it had long awaited.

He brought the ring closer to his chest and whispered,

"Rune of Life."

{A/N: I've decided to remove the incantations needed to absorb a rune. Now, it only requires blood and knowing the rune's True Name. Let me know what you think about this change!}

The instant the words left him, the ring liquefied, merging into his chest.

Then came the heat.

It was no ordinary warmth, but a raging inferno erupting inside him, burning through every vein and nerve like molten iron. His breath caught; his muscles spasmed violently.

Gritting his teeth, he clenched his fists, his knees buckling as he collapsed onto the cold stone floor.

Black smoke seeped from his pores, thick and acrid—impurities, tainted remnants being purged from within.

The scent of scorched flesh filled the air, but Ash remained silent, trembling as the heat gnawed at his insides like hungry flames.

Am I dying?

And then—just as swiftly as the agony peaked—it vanished.

A tidal wave of pleasure flooded his senses, soft yet intoxicating. His battered flesh melted under the sensation, tension unraveling like threads. He gasped, sharp but quiet, as if the warmth of the world itself was cradling him.

Inside his body, the change was immediate.

His bones, which had been brittle from weeks of neglect, thickened and hardened. The bruises faded in real-time, patches of discolored flesh flushing back to smooth, unmarred skin.

Torn muscle fibers reknitted tighter and denser, becoming laced with subtle greenish veins pulsing softly beneath the surface.

His heart beat stronger. His blood no longer sluggish, but vibrant and vital, as though each drop now carried life beyond mere survival.

The smallest wounds—the nicks on his knuckles, the torn skin at his elbows—vanished, replaced by new, resilient flesh.

And then came the deeper shift.

He felt the marrow inside his bones vibrate, as if charged with something primal. His nervous system lit up, hyper-aware but relaxed, like a bowstring pulled taut but perfectly controlled.

Every cell hummed in harmony, as though the Rune of Life itself was playing conductor to a newly awakened orchestra.

Ash remained kneeling, savoring it.

A quiet moan almost slipped from his lips before he caught himself, breathing out through gritted teeth. The afterglow was addictive—like being bathed in liquid serenity after drowning in agony for so long.

This... is too good.

He stood slowly, his movements fluid, light. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no stiffness, no grinding pain beneath each step. His hands flexed with newfound vigor.

Even the scars seemed fainter, blurred beneath healthier skin.

Ash flexed his fingers, feeling them respond like finely tuned instruments.

The smallest smile played at the edge of his mouth.

My body feels... perfect, he realized. A soft, almost greedy hunger sparked inside him. I want to feel that bliss again.

His fingers traced over his now unblemished ribs, marveling at the strength coiling beneath the surface. A subtle green tint danced along his veins, a lingering mark of the rune's presence.

Refreshed and stronger than he had been in weeks, Ash sank back behind the broken pillar, his breath steady, his senses sharp.

The Life energy hummed beneath his skin like a steady drumbeat.

But still—he waited.

Hours bled into the night. From his vantage point among the mangled dead, Ash watched as wave after wave of hunters flooded in, oblivious to the fate awaiting them.

Some charged in with confidence, others crept cautiously, but the end was always the same.

Stone soldiers cut them down mercilessly, their relentless blades reducing flesh and bone to scattered remains. The bodies piled higher with each passing hour, weapons clattered to the ground, blood pooled in rivers beneath the ancient carvings of the dungeon floor.

And still, Ash remained still—watchful, detached.

How many more will they feed this place? he mused with cold amusement as another man's scream was swallowed by the chamber's oppressive silence.

When the pale hues of dawn broke against the broken ceiling cracks, the pattern shifted.

The next arrivals moved with subtlety. Rogue hunters—mercenaries for hire, marked by worn leathers and scavenged gear. Desperation lined their faces, but hunger burned in their eyes.

Ash scoffed silently. They are now using rouge hunter to clear the dungeon.

He imagined the whispered promises: "Clear the dungeon, and the treasure's yours."

The soldiers made short work of them. More blood. More bodies.

Then, as if they had enough, the true storm came.

A powerful team surged into the dungeon. Ash felt the change immediately—their cohesion, their control.

Their armor gleamed with inscriptions, their blades crackled with power, their movements sharp and purposeful.

Ash's eyes narrowed. Veterans.

The clash was thunderous.

Spells lit the room in bursts of light, blades shattered stone limbs. For the first time, the soldiers faltered—stone cracked beneath hammer strikes, magic burned through enchanted shields.

They might just clear it.

But even in the chaos, Ash noticed them.

Some cloaked figures, subtly marked with crimson-threaded patterns—the unmistakable sign of the black market.

Their movements were smooth, practiced, as they slipped between the soldiers and activated a teleportation scroll mid-battle.

Cowards.

Ash's gaze stayed cold as the black market abandoned the association hunter's and, vanishing deeper into the dungeon.

The betrayal shattered the expert team's momentum. Confusion spread like wildfire.

Stone Soldiers seized the opening, blades sinking into flesh, crushing bones with ease. In seconds, the tide of battle reversed, but still they fought desperately.

More and more soldiers died.

Ash watched silently as they finally fulfilled their role.

When the last stone soldier fell and silence returned to the hall.

Leaving the exhausted people behind, Ash moved like a wraith, following the faint trail of teleportation energy left behind by the black market team.

Eventually, evading the traps by melting into darkness, he finally reached into a massive chamber with ancient walls.

There they are.

The traitorous operatives stood before a towering stone door, carved with intricate sigils that pulsed faintly beneath the pale, unnatural light. Despite their skill, their faces were twisted in frustration, their hands glowing as they attempted to force the door open.

But it wouldn't yield.

It stood unmoved, resolute.

Ash moved to the corner and again hid behind a pillar.

Everything is going according to plan, Ash thought, narrowing his eyes at the Black Market members, who were relentlessly bombarding the massive stone door with a barrage of spells and weapons.

Sparks of mana flared against the ancient surface, but the door remained unmoved.

But why isn't it opening?

But then, as if the dungeon was responding to him, something stirred.

A ripple across the reality unseen by anyone.

Like a breath exhaled by something vast and unseen beneath the surface of reality.

***