The Runic Alchemist

"I can't believe it…"

"That's Silverspell…"

"An invitation to become a Highsword member…?"

"For real…?"

"How is that even possible…!?"

Damian heard a chorus of whispers and murmurs around him. His friends stood frozen, mouths agape, clearly as stunned as the rest of the hall. Only Lucian, Evrin, and the Prince managed to maintain some semblance of composure. Einar, meanwhile, looked like her brain had short-circuited.

As the long-winded invitation speech drew to a close, the mess hall fell eerily silent. No one moved, no one spoke. All eyes turned to Damian, waiting expectantly for him to respond. The weight of their collective stare was suffocating. At last, Silverspell broke the silence.

"So… Young man?" His voice rang with sharp authority. "Do you accept or not? Don't keep us waiting now.."

"Huh?" Damian blinked. "You want a reply right now?"

The expressions in the room shifted instantly. Shock and disbelief rippled across the crowd as if he'd just asked something forbidden. Silverspell's eyes narrowed, and he took a step forward.

"It's an official invitation, boy," he said, producing a scroll and handing it to Damian. "This is the highest honor ever bestowed upon a candidate and raw talent such as yourself—an opportunity only the most extraordinary receive. Are you seriously saying you need time to think about it?"

Damian met the mage's gaze evenly. "Well, I do expect to know what it means in detail to become a Highsword, before giving my answer," he replied, his tone calm but firm.

The murmurs erupted again, louder this time.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

"What is he saying..?"

"Did he seriously refuse to Silverspell..?"

"How dare he speak like that.."

"Who would refuse such a thing..?"

"What an idiot.."

Damian couldn't entirely blame them for their reactions. Becoming a Highsword was the ultimate dream of nearly every student here. The ranking exam was why they had gathered in the first place, each hoping to earn recognition and fame. For the Highswords themselves to offer such a rare invitation? It was unheard of.

He hadn't anticipated Highsword throwing such an unexpected curveball his way. Before he could even consider saying yes or no, Damian needed clarity on whether joining would grant them the authority to demand his research. Even if that concern were unfounded, the prospect of taking a vow to forgo marriage and fatherhood held little appeal for him.

Especially considering now that he and Reize had progressed so far in their relationship.

Silverspell stepped forward, his elegant robes shimmering as if reflecting his own unshakeable sense of grandeur. His white hair seemed to catch a nonexistent breeze, framing a face etched with an expression of pure disdainful authority. The mage glanced around at the sea of gasping students before narrowing his gaze on Damian, his voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade.

"Oh, the audacity! Truly, I am in awe—not of your so-called talent, young man, but of your utter lack of decorum. Do you grasp the significance of the opportunity placed before you? This invitation, this sacred scroll, is not handed out on a whim to mere mortals scrabbling for mediocrity. No. It is reserved for the exceptional, the unparalleled, the finest that our world has to offer. Yet here you stand—unmoved, questioning, hesitating, as though the Highswords are but a village militia recruiting for a winter festival."

The air in the hall grew heavy, the students shrinking under the weight of his words.

"Allow me to enlighten you, Morph Vialist," Silverspell continued, his lips curling into a frigid smile. "To become a Highsword is to ascend beyond the bounds of the ordinary. It is to wield the authority and respect of nations. Kings tremble at the mention of us; empires recalibrate their fates to align with our decrees. We shape history, mold the destiny of realms, and blaze trails into the uncharted void. And you dare to ask what it means?"

He leaned closer, his piercing gaze locking onto Damian's. ""It means that your name would be etched alongside the titans of lore, that your research—so precious to you—would not merely be handled with care and responsibility the great power deserves, but the consequences for such a thing will be discussed and debated with the brilliance of highest and most respectable individuals, such minds of wisdom and intellect which are guiding the course of magic for eons.

And as for the trivialities of mortal affections, do you think such... frivolities hold value against the legacy of an immortal hero?"

He pulled back with a dramatic sweep of his arm. "To refuse such an honor is not just folly—it is blasphemy. Tell me, Maximus, how will history remember you if you slink away now? As the one who dared to snub destiny? Or as the one who rose to seize it with both hands? Make no mistake—the world is watching. And so am I."

Silverspell turned on his heel, glaring imperiously at the rest of the room. "Speak, boy! Let us hear whether you are worthy of what is being offered or merely a child unfit for the Glory of men."

The hall fell deathly silent. Eyes wide, hearts pounding, all attention fixed upon Damian. The air itself seemed to hold its breath, awaiting his answer.

Damian exhaled slowly, his gaze meeting Silverspell's with a mix of defiance and amusement. He held the scroll in his hand for a moment, then casually flipped it back to the mage, the soft thud of parchment striking Silverspell's chest breaking the tense silence.

"No," Damian said firmly. His voice was quiet but carried a weight that silenced even the faintest whispers.

Gasps rippled through the room. Damian's gaze swept across the stunned crowd, his words steady and sharp.

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"I'm not interested in signing my life away to people I barely know. Becoming a Highsword might mean the world to everyone here, but to me? It's just another leash. I don't need your approval, your hierarchy, or your rules to prove my worth."

The room was deathly silent, but Damian wasn't done. He turned to the noble students clustered at the edges of the crowd, each of them staring as though he'd just committed the ultimate sacrilege. His voice hardened, taking on an edge that dared anyone to challenge him.

"And while we're on the topic, let me make this perfectly clear to all you noble types in your gilded bubbles: don't ever come to me with some pretentious contract thinking you can dangle prestige, power or your sisters and cousins as bait. It's not happening—ever. I don't care how influential your family is, how rich your coffers are, or how many 'connections' you claim to have. My life isn't a commodity for you to buy. So save your time, save your breath, and stay the hell out of my way."

Damian's gaze lingered for a moment longer, daring someone—anyone—to step forward. When no one did, he turned back to Silverspell, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Thanks for the offer, though. Really. However, Next time you pick someone to 'invite,' maybe make sure they actually want what you're selling."

And with that, he was gone, leaving the hall in stunned silence with Toph in his hands, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.