Ren stepped out of the second-to-last rune shop like a storm wearing pants.
His brows were drawn tight, his mouth a sharp line of frustration, and his steps were brisk enough to punch dents into the ground.
The usually calm and calculated boy genius looked like he'd just been forced to babysit a pack of caffeine-hyped spirit toddlers.
And honestly? That would've been less painful than what he just endured.
"Seventy-two rune shops," he muttered under his breath, voice low and dangerous, like a kettle about to whistle. "Seventy-two, and not one damn Stage 1 rune that isn't a glorified sparkle."
The problem wasn't that there weren't runes. There were tons. Scrolls, carvings, glowing slabs, floating inscriptions, so even sealed in spirit jars and sold like perfu.
The problem was that none of them were right for Ren. Oh, there were so tempting Stage 2 runes—ones that made his analytical mind light up with possibilities.
Runes taken from dinsional leopards that could fold space mid-leap. Others that enhanced the nervous system to the point where dodging a bullet wasn't just possible; it was passive.
But all those runes ca from Stage 2 or higher beasts. And that was a hard line Ren couldn't cross. No, scratch that. He refused to cross it.
Carvers had one absolute, unbreakable rule burned into every soul training manual in existence: Your first rune must co from a Stage 1 beast. The weakest, lowest grade possible.
Not because the world wanted to make newbies suffer. But because breaking that rule didn't just fail, it killed you.
Explosively.
And Ren didn't an that as a taphor.
It was a biological truth. The human body, no matter how talented, simply couldn't handle the spiritual density and soul force of a higher-stage beast for its first rune.
Your soul hadn't expanded yet. Your nervous system hadn't developed the buffer circuits that evolved from your first successful carving.
Trying to absorb a higher-stage beast rune before your body had that foundation would trigger full-body soul seizures.
Not just shaking; it was soul-ripping convulsions that snapped bones, fried nerves, and lted your brain from the inside out!
Only one man in recorded history had ever survived breaking that rule: the legendary Golden Judgent. The very first Carver. The pioneer.
The monster among n whose first rune was from a Stage 5 beast and who didn't die but instead ascended on the spot and nearly blew up a continent with the power overflow.
Everyone else? They died like overcooked noodles being crushed under an anvil.
Ren wasn't interested in joining that tragic statistic. He liked having a functioning brain. And a face. And organs that didn't rupture when he sneezed.
So now he stood at a crossroads. Either he settled for so weak, generic rune that didn't match him or his weapon which would probably be sothing that made him "ten percent lighter" or gave him "improved knee reflexes", or... he waited.
But waiting wasn't an option.
The battle with Mirabella was creeping closer like an exam you hadn't studied for, and Ren didn't have the luxury of kicking back while other people trained.
He had to be ready. Which ant he had to find sothing. Anything.
He let out a long sigh that carried enough pain to make passing spirits pause.
Then, with grim determination, he stepped into the final rune shop.
The mont he crossed the threshold, it felt like he had stepped into a dream.
Everything inside was white.
And not the boring, hospital-wall kind of white. This was luminous, clean, glimring white. Like snow freshly blessed by the moon.
The floors were smooth like porcelain, the shelves symtrical and floating, arranged in delicate circular patterns.
There were no neon signs. No loud sales spirits. No fake chants about "life-changing" runes.
It was quiet.
Peaceful. And almost unsettling.
Ren took another step in and paused as his eyes caught movent; a faint flicker of sothing in the air.
A nearly invisible silhouette shimred into view from the corner, made of soft white mist and shaped like a shy librarian in a flowing robe.
It had two gentle eyes that glowed faintly, and it moved with the grace of falling feathers.
"Welco, honored seeker," it said, its voice quiet like wind brushing against silk. "Are you in search of sothing... particular?"
Ren blinked. Of all the shops he'd entered today, this was the first one that didn't blast him with fake fireworks and exaggerated claims. He gave a respectful nod.
"I'm looking for a Stage 1 rune," he said. "Sothing that enhances my speed, coordination, dexterity, flexibility, sole strength—especially reaction ti. Preferably without turning into an unstable emotional wreck or making hallucinate."
The spirit gave a soft chuckle, almost like a whisper.
"You seek compatibility... and control. Very well. Please, follow ."
It floated over to one of the gleaming shelves, gesturing with delicate hands as several scrolls floated out and unrolled in midair.
"Here are three options."
The first rune was from a creature called a Flicker Mink.
It improved fine motor control and allowed for smoother movent at high speeds. Its special ability was the minor enhancent of his overall dexterity.
The second was extracted from a Snaptail Lizard, boosting flexibility and leg reflexes.
Once activated, it increased his speed by up to 30%
The third, from a beast called the Dusk Antelope, heightened visual tracking and overall agility.
His sight would get drastically improved and ability to take in rapid visual information would surge once activated.
They were good.
Decent.
But not special.
Each one read like a starter pack buff. Stuff Ren could easily replicate later with enough training or evolution forge upgrades.
He frowned, rubbing his chin as he studied the floating scrolls, already calculating how they would sh with his current build and Bloodthirsty's fighting style.
"None of these are it," he muttered. "I need sothing with a punch. Not just a stat booster; sothing unique. Sothing that changes the way I fight."
He turned to leave, already halfway back toward the door when—
"Wait," the spirit said softly, its voice a breathy ripple in the silence.
Ren paused.
"There is... one more."
He turned, eyes narrowing slightly. "Oh?"
The spirit's body flickered, as if unsure. Then it waved its hand and proceeded deeper into the stall.
Ren followed quietly, still not expecting much. He'd already spent the entire afternoon rummaging through "special" runes that were as impressive as soggy crackers.
But then, without fanfare or glowing effects, the spirit reached a white drawer, opened it gently, and pulled out a small box the size of a loaf of bread.
What it placed down nearly made Ren do a double take.
It was a pile—no, a mountain—of runes.
Dozens. Neatly stacked and all completely identical. Sa color. Sa shape. Sa swirling silver script carved into the core.
It was almost comical how little effort had gone into displaying them. They looked like clearance bin rejects at a spirit thrift shop.
The spirit gave a delicate little cough, as if embarrassed.
"This... is a Phantom Panther rune."
Ren tilted his head. "You an all of these?"
"Yes. Every single one."
The sheer volu of them was almost insulting. Ren squinted at the runes like they had just offended his bloodline.
These definitely weren't the most special runes out there.
The spirit continued, "The Phantom Panther is... unique, to say the least. It's a creature native to the lunar fog forests of the First Sovereignty.
They are stealthy, sleek and blessed with an ability that has baffled researchers for centuries. But..." it hesitated, tone dipping slightly, "it's also one of the rare beasts in this world that cannot evolve past Stage 2."
Ren blinked.
"What?"
"It's true," the spirit nodded. "No matter how many generations have passed, no matter the variations in environnt or training, the Phantom Panther's bloodline hits a hard ceiling. Not a single specin has ever advanced to Stage 3. For this reason, these runes... are not in demand."
Ren raised an eyebrow. "Wait. If the ability is as good as you're suggesting, why don't people just use it anyway?"
"Because of bloodline progression," the spirit replied, voice soft and asured.
"Carvers typically choose their runes along a single beast line. Night Panther to Greater Night Panther to Mythic Nightbeast Night Panther and so on. It keeps the compatibility high.
"Runes that co from a shared bloodline harmonize. They blend and support one another like threads in a single tapestry.
"But if you mix beast lines carelessly, especially high-stage ones, the runes can begin to clash. Fights can erupt... inside your soul."
Ren scratched the back of his head. "Sounds painful."
"More than painful. Fatal. Internal soul warfare doesn't give you a dramatic last stand. It just eats you alive from the inside, slowly, painfully. Most avoid it by keeping all their rune stages within the sa beast family."
"Ah... and since the Phantom Panther caps at Stage 2, no one wants to waste their foundation on it."
The spirit nodded, almost shyly. "Correct."
Ren stood silently, arms crossed, eyes now fixed on the identical runes with renewed curiosity.
They were like the black sheep of the rune world. Tossed aside. Forgotten. Not because they were bad, but because they didn't fit into the 'long-term plan' of most cultivators.
He couldn't deny the logic. Runes weren't just power; they were investnts. And placing your first bet on a dead-end road was risky.
But then...
The spirit leaned in slightly. "However... it does have a special ability. One so unique, so precise, that if you are a certain kind of fighter... it becos less of a dead-end and more of a golden shortcut."
Ren's gaze sharpened.
The spirit smiled faintly and whispered a few words.
Whatever it said, whatever this ability was, Ren's eyes slowly widened, then narrowed with a glint of sothing dangerous behind them.
That cold, calculating glimr that always appeared when a plan was forming at lightspeed in his mind.
"Oh," he said softly. "Oh that's perfect."
Without a second thought, he slamd his palm down on the white table.
"I'll take it."
The spirit blinked, surprised. "Are you sure? This will define your rune path—"
"I'm sure." Ren's grin was wide and sharp, the kind he wore when he found the final piece of a complicated experint. "This one's built for ."
He scooped up one of the glowing runes with care, and the spirit swiftly packed it into a rune-grade pouch, along with a sleek carving dagger.
The dagger was a soul-bound implent designed to be used only once for Carving, and a bottle of Soul Tonic, thick and glowing faintly purple. It would reduce the pain. Slightly.
Within monts, the transaction was complete.
Ren stepped back out onto the street of the Rune Lane, the white doors closing behind him with a soft click.
The air outside was cooler now, the sun above the Side Block beginning its gentle descent. The crowd was still bustling with prospectives, spirits, and girls moving to and fro, each with their own goals, their own little journeys.
But Ren?
He held a pouch in his left hand.
Inside was a rune carved from a creature that the world had labeled "a waste of ti."
And yet, for so reason, Ren's footsteps were lighter than ever. Even the heavy Bloodthirsty couldn't drag him down.
His smirk was sharp, eyes gleaming with excitent as he made his way toward his dorms.
Because tonight was the day he began carving his very first rune.
And unlike everyone else—
He already knew he'd chosen a monster.
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