The Runic Alchemist

Oh, there was no defense mechanism protecting the widespread camp. The pugilist did say Moondancer destroyed it along with many of their resources. They had cut down the trees in the middle of the forest, with a river on one side, to make a camp for a smaller force than the one at the entrance of the Wraith's Passage in the Dreaded Lands.

Damian's mana sense told him there were fewer than half the people present compared to when he had left six months ago. The others were either trying to find the Ashenvale forces in the vast forest or were long dead. Standing atop the tallest building in the camp, the fast winds flapping his clothes, Damian saw the reason for the alarm.

A huge twisting, swirling tornado was coming their way, aimed directly at the heart of the camp. Was that a spell? If it was, it was one hell of a cool spell. The amount of mana required would be astronomical. Must be that new third ranker... Aethergale, was it?

There was "gale" in there—must be a wind-type mage.

As everyone scrambled to either save themselves or secure the camp from the strong winds that were sending large pieces of wood, stone, and other debris flying, Damian spotted two figures taking off from the camp, flying toward the oncoming tornado. It was Vidalia and Bonecrusher. The guy could fly...? Without using mana? How the hell does one fly with pure aura pressure?

Pugilists were like a slap in the face of the system. They needed no skills to become one—just pure strength and blood-spitting hard work. Even mages or Spellswords could take a secondary job as a Pugilist with enough hard work in their first three pathfinders job before selecting on one specific class as second rank. But hardly anyone would do so.

If you had magic, why would you spend hours and hours doing physical exercises and essence-gathering meditations?

Damian was fascinated by the Pugilist class's ability to absorb the essence of pure mana and convert it into physical strength. They didn't absorb mana itself, but its pure essence, according to a book he had read. But what was the difference between the two?

How did one separate mana, which should have a singular atomic structure, into two, with one having something extra—something that strengthened the body? It wasn't poisonous but nourishing instead. If he could understand that, maybe he could find a way to absorb mana from the environment to fill his own mana pool. That would really break the limits of what he could do with spells.

It was hard to make out what Vidalia and Bonecrusher were doing, but Damian saw two large green runic circles forming near Vidalia as Bonecrusher unleashed a flurry of punches, generating overwhelming air pressure from all directions, single-handedly forcing the tornado to shift its path.

It was impressive and could work given time, but Damian believed Vidalia's wind spells would be better suited to controlling the tornado and weakening it.

As he observed from sitting atop the wooden roof, munching on fruit he had stored in his spatial storage, his short legs dangling from the edge, he watched as Vidalia successfully ate away at the tornado's energy bit by bit. Soon, it was insignificant enough for Bonecrusher to dismiss entirely, punching the hell out of it. Despite their earlier arguments, they seemed to work pretty well together.

Once the tornado was dealt with, everyone calmed down and returned to their tasks—some repairing the damage the winds had done to tents and supplies. Vidalia and Bonecrusher flew back to the building Damian was sitting atop.

As they approached, Vidalia caught sight of him and raised an eyebrow, seeing him eating so peacefully when people were running all over, while Bonecrusher glanced at him briefly before dismissing his presence altogether, his face betraying no emotion.

Damian stood up, taking one last look around the camp before jumping down. He used water whips to grab hold of a window and pulled himself back into the room he had just come from. No sooner had he taken his seat when Vidalia, Bonecrusher, Aramis, Tristan, and the pugilist entered the room.

"I see that you've made yourself comfortable," Tristan said in a mocking tone as he sat beside Damian.

"Should I have asked? What's it going to be then? More lashes?" Damian shot back, earning a squint from Tristan.

"Send the brat away. We have important things to discuss," Bonecrusher growled as he took his seat.

"Just ignore him," Vidalia dismissed him, taking the seat opposite. The others exchanged glances but gave Bonecrusher a silent nod of agreement.

"Hmph... Whatever, then. Can we use the tool again?" Bonecrusher asked, crossing his arms, his muscles bulging.

"It takes two days to fully charge," Tristan replied.

"Then we must plan an attack or, at the very least, make a decisive move to give us the upper hand in the upcoming battle. I would've preferred if you had remained hidden so we could surprise those bastards, but that's no longer an option," Bonecrusher said.

"We can't keep up with the constant strain of staying on alert all the time. It's only a matter of time before someone makes a mistake. The sooner, the better," Tristan agreed.

"However, we also need to talk—" Damian tuned them out, his mind focusing on searching for familiar mana signatures. Sena was there—a bit far from them, but she was present. He continued searching, but he found no trace of Makayla's signature that one he was hoping for, even when he extended his senses to the limit there was none traces of her. Did she.. die? When was the last time he had seen her..?

However, he did detect other familiar mana signatures, which gave him a pleasant surprise. Valoris was there, as well as that mage captain, Royce. What were they doing here? Had they asked for reinforcements from Pyron and brought the whole training camp with them? Were his friends here? Were they...

alive? Sam...