Chapter 12 – The Secret of the First Duke
Chris lay sprawled across the smooth, marble floor of the Arcana Library, drenched in sweat, blood, and Starfire Ink. His chest throbbed with a dull ache where the runes now pulsed faintly with power. The ritual had drained him more than any battle, more than even fighting the Outer God, Xal'tharion. His limbs refused to move, and exhaustion wrapped around him like a heavy cloak.
Without realizing it, he slipped into unconsciousness.
When his eyes fluttered open again, he was startled to see a familiar figure hovering just inches from his face.
"...You're awake," said Arcanis, the ancient spirit-librarian of the Arcana Library, his translucent form glowing faintly, his expression a mix of curiosity and suspicion.
Chris blinked, still groggy. "Wh—why are you staring like that?"
Arcanis tilted his head, voice calm but edged with intensity.
"How do you know how to draw Runes of the Soul?"
Chris froze.
He hadn't expected anyone to recognize what he had done—much less a contracted spirit bound to the Duke's bloodline. His heart skipped a beat as he tried to think of a lie… but the spirit's piercing gaze told him it would be useless.
Instead, Chris deflected. "How do you know what they are?"
Arcanis's eyes narrowed, and after a pause, he answered in a quiet, reverent tone.
"Because… you are not the first human to inscribe them."
That made Chris sit up, ignoring the flare of pain across his body.
"What do you mean?"
The spirit's form flickered briefly, his voice growing solemn, as if recounting a tale buried deep in the heart of time.
"Your ancestor—the First Duke Celestarios—he was the first to draw runes upon his soul. He uncovered the ancient legacy of the dragons and dared to engrave their secrets into his very essence."
Chris's breath caught.
The First Duke? The legendary founder of the Celestrius line, known in history as the one and only 9th Circle Magician of the Empire?
Everyone revered him as a once-in-an-era genius, a man whose power rivaled even the heroes of myth. Chris had always wondered how a single man could rise so high from nothing. And now… he had his answer.
"That's impossible," Chris muttered. "Then why didn't anyone know? Why didn't he pass it on to his descendants?"
Arcanis's expression dimmed.
"Because he deemed them unworthy. All of them."
Chris's eyes widened.
"They worshipped his glory, but not his path. They craved the power, but feared the pain. He tested his sons and his disciples, and when none of them could endure the first step of the Rune Ritual… he chose to bury the secret with himself."
The words struck Chris like a blade.
All this time, his family had inherited the legacy… but not the courage.
He glanced down at the runes etched into his own body—still glowing faintly with a quiet flame. They burned, yes—but they also resonated with something deep inside him.
Was this fate?
Or something more?
Arcanis floated back slightly, a small smile forming on his face for the first time.
"He would have liked you, you know. The First Duke. You remind me of him. Foolish enough to try the impossible… but stubborn enough to succeed."
Chris chuckled under his breath.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
He slowly rose to his feet, the weight of what he had done settling into his bones. He wasn't just reclaiming his life. He was treading a path walked only by legends.
But this time… he wouldn't walk it alone.