The Runic Alchemist

Chapter 211: Past Mistakes

They continued after the small break, each lost in their own thoughts.

It made sense. The pugilist class was strange, but then again, it was just a story, and who knew in what shape and form it had survived until now. There was no mention of a pugilist god in any known history—of that, Damian was sure. Still, he'd have to ask an Eldoris scholar with access to the royal archives for a more detailed answer.

Damian also tried applying the principle of emotions guiding the flow of his aura. He noticed a slight improvement, though like everything else, it required practice. Otherwise, everyone would be a master pugilist by now. He was just glad that it worked.

The climb was getting harder, and they had to use Damian's vine more frequently. Kazak often went ahead, pulling some of them up, though even he struggled at times, forcing Damian to rely on his wormholes more and more. If things got too difficult, Kazak and Damian had discussed possibly leaving the others behind for a few hours and pushing on by themselves.

Still, they'd made good progress for the day.

They were only a few kilometers from the peak, needing about 5-6 hours to cover the final stretch. But the evening had grown too dark to risk it, and they had also found another flat surface to camp on, though the wind here was fast and cold.

Damian and the old fox built a small room-like structure, reinforcing it with layers of earth walls and a wooden roof—a skill Damian had recently learned from Royce and executed proudly, though there were still some misshapen pieces of wood here and there.

The wood style was peculiar. Every change and shape required a different runic circle, and though the chanting only varied slightly in words, the runic structure could change drastically. Sometimes it was a simple value adjustment, and sometimes even for the slightest change the whole runic circle changed.

It was easy to control through chanting and willpower, but replicating complex runic circles precisely in seconds was difficult, even for someone with Damian's high intelligence stats. Tracking and remembering every minor change was a challenge, and drawing the runic circles to match it was another ordeal altogether.

"Come on, boy… Brighten up now. We understand it. She would have gotten the info from someone else anyway. Beating yourself up over it won't help," the old fox said to the gloomy wolf child, who was spreading depression all over the mountain trail. Einar wasn't much better, but her issue was different.

Damian could see she wasn't entirely hung up on it, though she was acting robotic, as if she had lost everything that made her herself. Discover more stories at m,v l'e-NovelBin.net

There wasn't much they could do about it. A reason to live is something everyone ponders at some point of time in their life. As long as she wasn't too far gone, it was best to let her work through it on her own.

As they huddled around the fire for warmth, Sam asked the old fox what was troubling the boy so grievously, and he told the whole tale.

"You were betrayed. It's not your fault. Plus, you're just a kid. If you don't make mistakes now, when will you?" Sam advised, speaking like a wise old grandpa. He was half-right though.

"A mistake that got over 67 beastmen brothers and sisters killed… I… could have…" the boy broke down.

"You could have done nothing. It wasn't your fault. It was mine for trusting that bastard in the first place. If it wasn't for that damned William brat…" Kazak added, getting carried away.

"Mistakes of the past are gone deeds. Learning from them is wisdom; living in regret is plain stupidity," the old fox said calmly.

"But…" the wolf boy started but couldn't finish.

"The only thing you can do is right your wrongs," Damian said, staring into the crackling fire. "You either plan, scheme, fight, and struggle to solve your problems, or you do your best to avoid them. I won't say you couldn't have made better choices, or that your regret is useless. But that's what growing up means.

You make the best decisions you can when the time comes, or you spend your life wondering what could have been. My advice? Stop thinking about past mistakes. They don't need you. Focus on what you can do now to help your village and your valley—they still need you."

Damian didn't care much for the stranger boy. Half of what he had said was meant for Einar, and he saw her react, though she hid it well. It was the best he could do without giving her a lecture she would most likely ignore. The conversation had suddenly become too serious, and everyone was staring at him. Feeling uncomfortable, Damian tried to change the subject.

"So, you guys also believe in Atraea, right?"

"Uh… Goddess Atraea? Yes," the old fox mage replied, surprised at the sudden shift.

"Is there any mention of Kalganomis or The Brightest Light in connection with her, in your stories?" Damian asked, curious about the figures he'd read about in the Waygate runic tool and the sword Sam had acquired.

"The Brightest Light… and Kalganomis…? No, nothing comes to mind," the old fox replied, thinking hard.

"My ancestors mentioned Kalganomis as one of the sea god's trusted followers, but that was ages ago. Where did you hear that name?" Kazak asked, surprised.

Damian didn't answer and instead asked Sam for his sword, which Sam handed over, listening intently to the conversation. Damian cast an analysis spell on the sword and showed it to Kazak and the old fox.

"A weapon from ancient times?" Kazak mused.

"It's an inferior copy, though," Old Man Shin remarked, though he was equally intrigued.

"Why would you carry such a dangerous weapon? I don't see any protection for the user," Kazak pointed out the glaring defect.

Sam only smirked in response. Damian didn't even bother stopping the fool—there was no use. As Sam's body visibly brightened, veins of purple and blue electricity appeared on his arms and bare skin. His eyes glowed as bright blue lightning danced around in them, and sparks crackled in his palms, giving the onlookers quite a scare.

The wolf boy even screamed like a little girl, toppling over where he sat in fright.