Chapter 27

As the carriage rumbled down the road, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels over cobblestones became a sort of lullaby. I was lost in my notebook, scribbling down thoughts, ideas, theories about the orc runes from the recent battle. My mind often needed a project to work through, something that could occupy my attention in a productive way. At this moment, my attention was laser-focused on the intricacies of rune patterns I'd discovered scrawled on the orcs' skin—a particularly brutal and permanent form of magic, no doubt.

Lady Valeria had been relatively quiet until now, occupying the opposite seat in the carriage, her posture elegant yet relaxed, as if she were born to live in luxury. I had almost forgotten she was there, which was, of course, an egregious oversight.

"Are you going to put that down and talk to me?" she said suddenly, her tone laced with something resembling frustration, though she softened it with a hint of playful impatience. "This is going to be a very boring trip if you're buried in that notebook the whole time."

I paused mid-sentence, the quill in my hand hovering over the page. Without looking up, I smirked a little to myself. Of course, she needed attention. It wasn't just her tone of voice that gave it away—it was the way she carried herself, the very air she projected. Lady Valeria was someone who expected the world to take notice of her every word, her every gesture. And I, for the last hour, had committed the grievous crime of ignoring her entirely.

Still, I took my time before answering, finishing the thought I had been writing. The orcs' use of runes intrigued me—each mark etched into their skin seemed to resonate with power, but what fascinated me was how deeply personal and permanent those runes were. Runes on skin—completely inseparable from the body itself—now that was a concept I hadn't seen often in the more civilized lands. It was a magic that suggested permanence, even fatalism. Perhaps that said something about the orcs themselves—their willingness to live and die by the marks they wore.

I finally closed the notebook with a quiet snap and looked at Valeria, raising an eyebrow. She was watching me with a mix of mild amusement and thinly veiled impatience. Typical.

"Apologies, Lady Valeria," I said, leaning back in my seat, "I didn't realize you were so in need of conversation. I thought the scenery might entertain you."

She arched an elegant eyebrow at that, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "The scenery is lovely, but I'm afraid it pales in comparison to my need for stimulating company."

Ah, of course. There it was. The not-so-subtle reminder that I was, indeed, her source of amusement for the journey. I leaned back, folding my hands across my lap, studying her for a moment. Valeria, with her perfectly coiffed hair and clothing that somehow made even traveling attire look like a fashion statement, radiated that effortless charm that could disarm anyone. But I knew better than to be drawn in too deeply by appearances.

My experience with women of her class had taught me one thing—they craved attention like it was air. Not in a needy, desperate way, mind you, but in a manner that was so finely tuned it became second nature. Whether it was admiration, adoration, or, in Valeria's case, intellectual engagement, women like her thrived on being seen. On being acknowledged as the center of any room, carriage, or conversation they occupied.

And yet, here I was, less than enthusiastic about playing that role.

"Stimulating company, hmm?" I repeated, my voice deliberately casual, as if I was weighing the merits of her request. "Well, that depends on the company, doesn't it?"

She narrowed her eyes at me in a way that was equal parts playful and mildly exasperated. "I have the distinct feeling, David, that you enjoy playing hard to get."

I shrugged, the corner of my mouth curling up into a smirk. "I wouldn't say hard to get. Perhaps... difficult to keep interested."

Valeria laughed softly, the sound melodic, but there was something sharp behind it, like the glint of a well-honed blade. She leaned forward slightly, her gaze locking onto mine with a newfound intensity. "I've always found men like you fascinating," she said, her voice dropping into a lower, more conspiratorial tone. "So wrapped up in your work, your thoughts, your little puzzles... all the while, you're missing out on the more immediate pleasures of life."

I couldn't help but laugh at that, but it was a quiet laugh, more amused than anything else. Valeria had walked into the very trap she was trying to set.

"And you," I countered, "seem to believe the only real pleasure comes from constant attention. Am I wrong?"

She didn't flinch, to her credit. In fact, her smile only widened. "Attention," she purred, "is an art form. And some of us are simply better at creating masterpieces with it."

Ah, yes. The ego.

One of the more pervasive aspects of my experience with women—especially those like Valeria—was how their need for validation could be wrapped up in the most intricate and, at times, dangerous of games. Women of her ilk were experts at manipulating the room, twisting conversations to always keep themselves in the center. They drew you in with charm, wit, and subtle flirtation, all while maintaining an air of untouchable grace. It was both exhausting and fascinating to watch.

Valeria was no different, though she had more skill at it than most. Her compliments came laced with subtle criticisms, her smiles designed to keep you guessing whether you were being admired or mocked. It was all very clever, but I'd seen it before. I wasn't here to dance to her tune.

Still, that didn't mean I wasn't curious. There was something about Valeria's presence in this carriage—something about her decision to accompany me on this journey—that left me wondering. She was too smart, too calculating to simply tag along for fun. No, there was a reason behind this, and I had yet to uncover what it was.

For now, though, I indulged her.

"Very well," I said, meeting her gaze evenly. "What would you like to talk about? Surely you didn't come all this way just to watch me scribble in my notebook."

Her smile remained, but I could see the shift in her eyes—something more guarded now. She was calculating her next move. "I came because I think we need each other, David. You're a rising star, and I have certain... connections that could be very useful to you, especially once we reach the capital."

Ah, now we were getting somewhere. "Connections, you say? And here I thought you just enjoyed my company."

"Oh, I do," she replied with that same coy smile, "but I also enjoy seeing potential fully realized. You could be something great, you know. But not without the right guidance."

"And you're offering to be that guide?"

She tilted her head, her gaze never leaving mine. "I'm offering to be your partner. The world is much easier to navigate when you're not doing it alone."

It was tempting, I'll admit. Valeria was undoubtedly well-connected, and her offer wasn't without merit. But there was something in her tone, in the way she presented it, that made me wary. It was the same old game—positioning herself to be indispensable, to make sure I owed her something.

I leaned back, my expression thoughtful. "You know, Valeria, I appreciate the offer. Truly, I do. But I've never been very good at partnerships."

"Oh, I think you'll make an exception this time," she said softly, her eyes gleaming. "After all, the capital is a very different place from here. You'll need someone who knows the terrain."

I considered her words carefully, turning them over in my mind. She was right, of course. The capital was a whole other level of politics and intrigue. It wouldn't hurt to have an ally—someone who could smooth over the rough patches, point me in the right direction when needed. But Valeria wasn't offering this out of the goodness of her heart. She saw something in me—something she could use for her own purposes.

"Perhaps," I said after a long pause, "but don't think for a moment I don't know the score. We may walk the same path, Valeria, but we're playing different games."

Her smile faltered for just a moment, and I saw the glint of something more dangerous in her eyes. Then, just as quickly, she recovered, her lips curving back into that playful smile.

"Of course," she purred, leaning back in her seat. "But wouldn't it be fun to see where those games take us?"

I smiled faintly, though inwardly, I remained cautious. This partnership, if it even became one, would be a delicate dance. One wrong move, and it could all come crashing down. But for now, I would play along. After all, I did enjoy a good challenge.

And Valeria? She was proving to be quite the intriguing puzzle.

I glanced up at her, just for a second, as she sighed—a deep, dramatic thing, full of all the weariness of a woman denied the attention she was due. Valeria, with her arms crossed over her chest, was staring out of the carriage window as if the countryside might at least offer some consolation for my clear lack of interest in conversation.

"I'll enjoy the scenery, then," she muttered, not even trying to hide her annoyance.

I nodded absentmindedly, not really giving her the satisfaction of a proper response. "You do that."

With that, I turned back to my notebook. Valeria might have been good company for someone who enjoyed endless small talk and charm, but I wasn't that someone—not today, at least. My mind was far too occupied with more interesting matters. The battle, or rather, the aftermath of it, still hung heavily in my thoughts.

The orc tattoos had caught my attention. The intricate patterns that shimmered with latent power, even after death, were unlike anything I'd seen in human magic. I had picked up a notebook from the battlefield—a grimy, bloodstained thing, but it contained valuable information. Whoever had scribbled it down clearly had an understanding of orcish magic far beyond what I could have imagined. It described the process of tattooing, the use of mana, and a sort of mental imprinting that the orcs performed as part of their rituals.

I skimmed through the notes again, my quill scratching across the page as I jotted down my thoughts. The process wasn't just about the tattoo itself; it was about the synergy between the person being tattooed and the magic. The orc had to actively participate, to focus their mind on the rune as it was being etched into their skin. The ink wasn't just ink—it was mana, concentrated into a physical form. And that mana would fuse with the body, linking the magic permanently to the person's very essence.

It made me wonder what kind of enhancements I could create if I applied this concept to myself. If I could bypass the clunky devices and enchanted jewelry humans relied on and instead bind the power directly to my body, what limits would there be? Runes that couldn't be stolen or disarmed. Magic that was part of me, not just something I wore or carried.

Of course, the thought was appealing. The edge it would give me... well, that was obvious. But there was also a danger. Orc magic was wild, primal. It was powerful, sure, but it came with risks—risks I couldn't fully understand without more research. If I made a mistake, the magic could backfire, or worse, it could bind to me in ways I couldn't control. I wasn't exactly keen on the idea of ending up as an exploding, mana-fueled corpse.

Still, it was worth thinking about.

I could feel Valeria's eyes on me again, and I finally glanced up, just in time to catch the look of impatience on her face. Her perfect lips were pressed into a thin line, as if my silence was some personal affront.

"Why don't humans use the orc tattoos?" I asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

She blinked, clearly surprised by the question. Her brow furrowed, and for a moment, she looked as though I had just asked her something obscene. "Orc tattoos?" she repeated, the disdain in her voice impossible to miss. "Why would we? They're barbaric. Crude. We can learn nothing from those savages."

I raised an eyebrow at that. "Barbaric? That's a bit of a convenient answer, don't you think? You don't see any value in them?"

Her eyes narrowed, as if I had crossed some invisible line. "They're brutes, David. We are not. We have refinement, culture. We don't need to resort to such... such base methods. Their magic is primitive. Besides, no one would even think to use it."

"Or maybe no one would consider it because of snobbery," I said, casually probing.

She huffed, leaning back in her seat as she crossed her legs with a sharp, impatient movement. "You can call it whatever you like. I call it common sense. We have our ways, and they have theirs. There's no need to mix them."

I smiled slightly, the hint of an idea forming in the back of my mind. "Fair enough," I said, not pressing the point further. The truth was, Valeria's reaction was precisely why this line of thinking intrigued me. People like her would never consider something like orc magic as a legitimate form of power. That was what made it valuable—no one would expect it.

I glanced back down at my notebook, flipping to a fresh page as I began to sketch out a few rough ideas. Runes on the skin, yes—but more refined. Human magic could still play a role, but perhaps combined with the orcish method, it could become something greater. A hybrid magic, born from the strengths of both approaches.

The thought of applying runes directly to my skin was an unsettling one, but then again, innovation always came with risks. And if it worked... well, it could give me the kind of advantage no one in the capital would see coming.

For the next few hours, I worked in silence, making notes, sketches, and calculations. I could feel Valeria watching me from time to time, but she didn't say anything more. Occasionally, the sound of the wheels against the road or the distant call of birds broke the stillness, but for the most part, it was just me and my thoughts.

Finally, I looked up from my work, feeling the ache in my hand from writing for so long. Valeria was still staring out of the window, the sunlight catching in her hair, giving her an almost ethereal glow. She was beautiful—there was no denying that. But as beautiful as she was, I couldn't shake the feeling that her presence was more than just a passing interest. There was a reason she had chosen to accompany me, and it wasn't just for pleasant conversation.

"Valeria," I said, my voice cutting through the quiet.

She turned, her gaze sharp. "Yes?"

"I've been thinking," I continued, "about why you're really here."

Her lips twitched, almost as if she were trying to suppress a smile. "And what conclusion have you come to?"

"That you have a plan. A reason for being here. You're too smart, too connected, to simply be tagging along for the scenery."

Her expression remained neutral, but there was a glint in her eyes now, something almost amused. "And if I do have a plan, what makes you think I'd tell you?"

I shrugged. "You might not. But I've learned that everyone has motives, even if they don't admit them. You included."

She leaned forward slightly, resting her chin on her hand as she regarded me with a thoughtful expression. "I don't deny that I have my reasons, David. But why spoil the mystery so soon? Perhaps it's better if we both play our cards close to the chest for now."

I nodded slowly, watching her carefully. "Fair enough. But don't think for a second that I won't figure it out."

Her smile returned, though this time, it was softer, almost playful. "Oh, I'm counting on it."

We lapsed into silence again, but it wasn't uncomfortable. If anything, it was the kind of silence that comes when two people are perfectly aware that they're playing a game—a game of wit, strategy, and subtle power. Valeria and I were both moving pieces on the board, but neither of us was ready to reveal our full hand just yet.

As the afternoon wore on, I found my thoughts drifting back to the orc tattoos. There was something about them that continued to gnaw at me, some potential I hadn't yet fully unlocked. The notebook I had picked up on the battlefield held most of the answers, but it would take more time to truly understand the intricacies of the magic.

I looked down at my arm, tracing a finger over the skin as I imagined what it would be like to inscribe a rune there. Could I really do it? Could I bind magic to my own body, just as the orcs did? And if I did, would it give me the power I sought, or would it consume me entirely?

Only time would tell.

For now, I would continue to explore the possibilities, but I would do so carefully. After all, the orcs had their way, and I had mine. But perhaps, with a little ingenuity, I could forge something new—something stronger.

And in a world like this, strength was everything.

--

As the sun began its slow descent behind the cliffs, casting long shadows across the narrow path we'd been following, the merchant caravan came to a halt. I knew the merchants had no intention of traveling through the night—too many dangers lurked in the wilderness after dark. A smart merchant always stopped with enough time to set up proper defenses before nightfall.

The wagons, surprisingly light and quick on their wheels, pulled into a neat circle. Their guards, a ragtag group of men with the solid look of veterans, jumped off and immediately got to work. While most travelers in this world might think a simple fire and a few blades would suffice for protection, the more cautious—and smarter—ones knew better. Runes were the key, and watching these men work, I could see they weren't novices when it came to magical defenses.

They began unpacking wooden boxes from the wagons, each one filled with small, inscribed stones. Simple runes, nothing fancy—alert runes to sound the alarm if any creatures wandered too close, force runes to push back anything that didn't take the hint. I watched them for a moment, interested in their technique. It wasn't quite as sophisticated as what I was used to, but it was efficient. Clearly, these men had done this a thousand times.

"Not bad," I muttered to myself. "But I can do better."

As the guards busied themselves with the perimeter, I turned my attention to the cliff wall. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips. Why rely on someone else's work when I had the tools to make my own sanctuary? Taking out one of my rune-etched weapons, I began to carve a small alcove into the stone, the blade humming with a low vibration as it sliced through the rock with ease. It wasn't long before I had a neat little cave, just big enough for me to sleep in, safe from whatever beasts or bandits might roam the night.

But I wasn't finished.

Safety, in my line of work, was never guaranteed unless you made damn sure of it. With a few quick strokes, I carved a barrier rune into the stone at the mouth of my little cave, followed by a reinforcement rune. The air shimmered as the magic activated, forming an invisible barrier that would turn solid at the first sign of trouble. If anyone—or anything—tried to get through that barrier, they'd be in for a nasty surprise.

I stood back, admiring my work, when I heard the soft sound of footsteps behind me. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

"David," Valeria's voice floated over, carrying that familiar tone of mild exasperation. "Don't you think you're being a bit obsessive?"

I turned to face her, leaning casually against the wall of my new stone cave. Valeria stood there in the fading light, her arms crossed, eyebrows arched in that way that made it clear she thought I was being ridiculous. Her long, luxurious hair, slightly tousled from the journey, framed her face perfectly, and despite her scolding tone, she was as stunning as ever. She had the look of someone born to be the center of attention—something she rarely let anyone forget.

"Better to be safe," I said, the corner of my mouth lifting into a half-smile. "Not all enemies come from outside the camp, you know."

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, genuine horror flickered across her face. "I hope you're not suggesting I'm an enemy."

I let the smile linger a second longer than necessary, then softened it. "I would never insult you that way, Lady Valeria." My tone was light, but the implication was clear. I didn't trust anyone out here, not entirely. Valeria was clever, ambitious, and well-connected—traits that made her as dangerous as she was beautiful.

She seemed to sense the layers beneath my words, her lips pressing into a thin line. "You're insufferable," she muttered, though there was no real bite to her words. She sighed, her posture relaxing as she stepped a little closer, glancing up at the barrier I'd created. "Still... I suppose you've earned the right to be paranoid. You did save us all back there."

"Paranoia keeps me alive," I said, brushing a speck of dirt from my sleeve. "And it's not paranoia if there's actually something to worry about."

She rolled her eyes but didn't argue. Instead, she reached out and ran her fingers along the smooth edge of the cave's entrance, inspecting my handiwork. "You're always so precise with these things," she mused. "It's impressive, really. All this rune work... you could probably build a fortress if you wanted to."

I shrugged. "Fortresses take time. This is just a temporary solution."

The camp was beginning to settle for the night. The merchants were finishing their final rounds, ensuring everything was in place. The guards had finished setting their runes, and the dim glow of their magic flickered at the edges of the camp, forming a protective ring around the wagons. Fires crackled softly in the background, casting long shadows across the ground.

Valeria lingered for a few moments more before finally stepping away from my makeshift cave. "Well, if you're not coming out to join the rest of us," she said, glancing over her shoulder, "I suppose I'll have to survive the night without your sparkling conversation."

I smirked. "I'm sure you'll manage."

She shook her head and walked back toward the main camp, her silhouette fading into the gathering darkness. I watched her go, then turned back to my notebook, flipping it open to the page I'd been working on earlier.

As I sat in the small, magically-carved alcove, the low hum of energy from my rune barrier filled the air around me. The world outside my little stone sanctuary was quiet now, with the distant crackle of campfires and the muted conversations of the guards standing vigil. My stomach grumbled, and I decided it was time for something... substantial. Something that would fuel the work ahead.

I reached into my storage space—a neat little enchantment I'd developed for moments just like this—and pulled out a slab of meat, frozen in time and brimming with potential. Not just any meat, though. This was from a high-level creature I'd killed some time ago, and the heart—still throbbing with raw power—was the prize. As I sliced into it with my knife, the blood spilled out, thick and dark, giving off a faint glow. I could feel the energy radiating from it, a buzzing pulse that was almost intoxicating.

I wasn't in the habit of eating raw organ meat, but when you've got a delicacy like this—well, why waste the magic? The heart would give me more than just a full stomach; it was power in its purest form, an infusion of strength that would ripple through my body for hours. I could already feel it, an electric hum spreading from my core, making me sharper, more alive. Every bite tasted like raw energy, the faint metallic tang offset by a strange warmth that settled in my bones.

After finishing the meal, I wiped my hands on a cloth and spread a large sheet of parchment in front of me. The ideas had been spinning in my head for a while now, ever since the battle with the orcs, and it was time to put them on paper. I sketched quickly, my hands moving almost of their own accord, outlining the intricate web of runes that had been taking shape in my mind. These wouldn't be just any runes; they would be carved into my skin, a personal network of power fused directly into my body. Orcs had been doing it for centuries, and while the human aristocracy turned their noses up at such methods, I wasn't above borrowing good ideas from unlikely places.

As the hours passed, I became lost in the work. The magical light I had summoned flickered gently above me, casting long shadows on the stone walls of my alcove. The runes I was designing had to be perfect—carefully aligned, balanced in a way that would allow the flow of mana through my body to be enhanced without overwhelming my own energy. The orc's runes had been crude in their application but terrifyingly effective. I was refining that brutality into something elegant, something uniquely mine.

I scratched out one symbol and replaced it with another, then redrew it, connecting the lines into a fluid sequence that would blend protection, strength, and mana control. I couldn't help but imagine the improvements I would see in combat, in my crafting, and—yes, even in survival. Power like this was not to be taken lightly.

Just as I finished the last of the preliminary sketches, exhaustion caught up with me. My body was buzzing from the energy of the creature's heart, but even that couldn't stave off the weariness that had settled into my bones after days of intense focus. I laid the parchment aside, leaned back against the stone wall, and let my eyes drift shut. The protective runes I had carved into the entrance of the alcove gave me a rare sense of peace. I knew I could sleep soundly here.

Hours later, in the dead of night, I jolted awake.

Something was wrong. I could feel it before I even opened my eyes, a strange shift in the air. I blinked against the dim light of my rune and heard a distant noise—low growls, rustling, and the unmistakable sound of something large moving just beyond the perimeter of the camp. I stood up and walked to the mouth of my little cave, peering out into the darkness.

The merchant's barrier runes were flickering faintly at the far end of the camp, where the trees grew thick and shadowy. Even from this distance, I could make out the figures of guards scrambling to their feet, weapons drawn. A commotion was building, and the air was thick with the tension of an impending fight. My hand instinctively moved to my sword, though I stayed in the shadows, watching.

Just beyond the barrier, I saw it—a hulking beast, something between a bear and a mountain lion, but with jagged, stone-like protrusions covering its back and claws that glowed faintly in the moonlight. The creature prowled just outside the reach of the merchant's protective runes, its muscles rippling beneath its thick hide. The guards moved cautiously, circling it, but the creature seemed more curious than aggressive at first, testing the magical barrier with a swipe of its massive claws.

"That," I muttered to myself, "is going to be a problem."

The lead guard—a tall man with a scar running down his left cheek—approached the creature with slow, deliberate steps. His sword gleamed in the firelight, and I could see the glow of a rune embedded in the blade. For a moment, the night was still. Then, with a sudden, feral roar, the beast lunged at the barrier, and the camp erupted into chaos.

The barrier rune flared to life, sending a pulse of energy through the air that knocked the creature back several feet. But it wasn't deterred. With a snarl, it shook off the hit and charged again, this time putting more weight into the blow. I heard the merchant's voice—Olin, I recalled his name—a stout man with a perpetually worried look about him, shouting orders to his men.

"Hold the line!" Olin barked, his voice strained. "Keep it at bay!"

I leaned against the entrance to my cave, watching with mild interest as the guards fought back the beast. They weren't doing terribly, all things considered. The barrier rune held strong, and their weapons seemed to have enough magical enhancement to deal damage if the creature managed to break through. Still, it was clear they weren't used to this level of threat.

"Poor people," I muttered, amused at their frantic attempts.

It didn't take long for the creature to meet its end. A particularly lucky blow from the scarred guard severed one of its front legs, sending it tumbling to the ground with a deafening crash. The rest of the guards swarmed in, and in a matter of minutes, the fight was over. The beast lay dead, its enormous body sprawled across the ground, the glow fading from its claws.

The camp erupted into cheers, the guards slapping each other on the back, clearly relieved to have survived the encounter. Olin, however, looked less than thrilled. His eyes darted toward the trees, as if expecting something worse to emerge from the shadows.

"That'll feed us for a few nights," one of the guards laughed, pulling out a knife and beginning to carve into the creature's thick hide. "Monster meat always makes for a good meal."

I smiled to myself as I watched them begin the process of cutting up the beast. Monster meat—especially from a creature like that—was highly prized. Not just for its flavor, but for the magical properties it could impart. For these men, it was a rare treat. For me, it was a reminder of the dangerous world we lived in. You never knew when something bigger, stronger, or more dangerous would show up.

Still, the incident had stirred something in me. As the camp settled back down, and the guards dragged the creature's body away to prepare it for cooking, I returned to my cave. The buzz of the high-level creature's heart still thrummed through me, but it was more than that. I felt... inspired. The runes I'd been sketching out earlier now seemed more urgent. The world was dangerous, yes, but it was also full of opportunities. Opportunities to grow stronger, to learn, to adapt.

I laid the parchment out again, adding new details to the designs. The power I'd felt from the beast's claws—the faint glow of energy that had radiated from them—gave me an idea for how to channel more power into my own runes. Perhaps I could integrate something similar into my own work.