Chapter 974: Using Runes

Max’s gaze swept over the patrols circling the corridor like hounds chained to duty. Their footsteps rang steady against the steel-tiled floor, their aura flaring faintly—peak Mythic Rank guards, deadly enough that one mistake could see him undone.

But Max only sneered, a calm curve tugging at the corner of his lips. Fear wasn’t part of him anymore.

He shifted his weight lightly, letting his body melt into the blind spot of their rotation. There, pressed against the shadows beside a sealed cell above Lenavira’s, the angle and overlap of patrol arcs cloaked him completely.

Even if he dropped his invisibility now, not a single guard’s sight would cut into his corner. It was as though the very stones of the obelisk had swallowed him.

But Max wasn’t about to test that recklessly.

His fingers dipped into his storage space, drawing out two rune papers. Kneeling low, he pressed his palm against one, his blue soul force seeping into the paper as his hand danced with rune brush.

Symbols bloomed one after another, precise and flowing, lines weaving into complex geometry that pulsed with restrained power. He etched with purpose, every stroke deliberate, as if sketching the skeleton of a storm.

Minutes ticked by, but Max was still as still water, the scratching hum of his soul pen against rune paper drowned beneath the faint shuffle of armored boots outside.

Finally, the second rune flared and quieted, its glyphs settling like a predator waiting to spring. He exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders once, satisfied.

"Perfect," he mouthed without a sound.

With deliberate steps, he slid from his nook, slipping through the guards’ rhythm like a ghost dancing between beats. One man turned his head, another adjusted his halberd grip—but none saw the shadow gliding just past their flanks.

Max’s boots touched the cold floor directly in front of Lenavira’s cell. The sight made his chest tighten—the curled figure within, silent and unmoving, shrouded in that unwanted dark elf form. For just a fraction, his calm mask cracked. But he buried it again, steeling himself.

His hand pressed down, rune paper sliding against the polished tiles. Mana surged faintly as he anchored the glyph into place, its etched veins sinking into the floor like roots burrowing into the veins of the obelisk itself.

The lines shimmered once before going still, hidden from ordinary sight. To any passerby it was nothing but a blank floor. But Max knew. His rune was there. Waiting.

"Good," Max whispered silently in his heart, his eyes narrowing with cold resolve. He straightened slightly, mind already racing through the next step, pieces of his plan aligning like blades being drawn from their sheath.

This was only the first stone in the bridge he would use to take her back.

***

The corridor was silent but for the murmurs of the guards posted outside Lenavira’s cell. Three of them stood close, weapons strapped at their sides, their voices low and casual.

"...my son’s exam is next week. If he fails again, my wife will skin me alive," one muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Another chuckled. "Better she skins you than the Commander. You saw what he did to that fool who fell asleep on duty."

The third leaned lazily on his spear, sighing. "Honestly, I don’t get why we’re wasting men here. This elf has been locked in that cell for days without moving. If you ask me, she’s half-dead already."

Their idle chatter grated on Max’s ears. From the shadows at the far end of the corridor, unseen and silent, he pressed a palm against the wall. His Blue Soul stirred, glowing faintly beneath his skin, and then his mind surged outward. A deep pulse rippled through the air—calm, precise, and suffocating.

Monarch’s Authority.

Invisible waves of soul force poured from him, sharp and domineering, laced with an ancient pressure that clawed at the guards’ minds. It was not pain—it was worse. It was fear. Pure, primal fear, the kind that tore through the heart and coiled like chains around the spirit.

One of the guards stiffened instantly, his spear slipping from his grip and clattering to the floor. His eyes glazed over as cold sweat poured down his neck. His lips trembled, muttering incoherently before his voice flattened into silence.

Max’s voice slithered into the man’s mind, deep, commanding, absolute. ’Open the cell.’

The trembling guard staggered forward, his companions staring in confusion.

"Hey—what the hell are you doing?" one barked, but the enthralled guard didn’t answer. His hands moved stiffly, almost puppet-like, pressing against the runic panel. First, his fingerprint. The plate blinked green.

"What’s wrong with you, damn it?" The other reached to grab his arm, but froze as the man’s eyes—wide, glazed, unfocused—glimmered faintly with a blue light. A chill crept up his spine.

The guard bent, leaning into the scanner. A low hum echoed, the obelisk’s enchantments responding, and then—click. The locks disengaged, heavy bars sliding back with a groan of spiritsteel.

The two unaffected guards looked at each other, panic sparking. "What in the—"

But by then, Max was already moving. A blur of silence, a wisp of nothingness. He slipped past them as the cell doors parted, his invisibility intact, his aura erased, his presence reduced to less than a shadow.

The door yawned open, and Max slid inside just as the guard completed his final action under Monarch’s Authority. Then, with a faint twitch, the man collapsed to his knees, trembling violently, eyes vacant.

The others rushed to his side, shouting his name, fumbling to understand what had just happened. Their confusion was chaos, and in that chaos, the door sealed shut behind Max—quietly, seamlessly, as if it had never been opened at all.

Inside the small cubic cell, Max’s sharp eyes instantly found her. Lenavira. Curled against the wall, her skin pale with a faint dark sheen, her long silver hair stained with streaks of shadow. Her aura flickered between light and darkness, chained by the corruption of her Dark Elf form.

Max stood there silently, his heart pounding, the remnants of his Monarch’s Authority echoing faintly in his mind. ’I’ve made it.’

He crouched low, his gaze softening as he whispered under his breath, words meant only for her. "Lenavira... I’m here."