The Runesmith Chapter 527: From Rags To Riches.

Chapter 527: From Rags To Riches.

I would like to officially inform all my readers that I have started writing a new story called Heavy Metal [ A Monster Evolution LitRPG ]

“Waaaaa…”

“Haha, what is it my little Thordrin? Are you hungry? Or perhaps is it…”

A stocky looking man held a crying baby up with his arms, his fingers thick from years of working in the smithy. His hair was red and his beard was long and bushy. The child in his hand continued to wail despite his attempts to soothe it. Bernir cradled the baby awkwardly, his large hands trying to be gentle as he rocked his son back and forth. His eyes darted toward the door, half-hoping his wife, Dyana, would appear to rescue him from this predicament.

“Waaaaa!”

“By the old dwarven G.o.ds… What do you need now, little one?”

Bernir muttered, while sniffing at the air wondering if he needed to change his diaper. The baby, Thordrin, was red-faced and inconsolable. Bernir tried humming a lullaby his human mother used to sing, but his deep baritone seemed to startle the child more than calm him. He was just about to try feeding him again when the door creaked open, and Dyana stepped in, her expression clearly indicating frustration.

“Give him here, Bernir”

She said, reaching for the baby.

“You’re holding him like he’s a sack of ore.”

The woman was much taller than her half-dwarven husband, with prominent horns protruding from her head. Her bullish features were unmistakable, yet the baby didn’t appear to have inherited any of them. Thordin mostly resembled an ordinary human, sharing his father’s hair color. Only time would reveal whether he would develop any beastman or dwarven traits from his parents.

“He’s louder than a forge hammer today. Maybe he’s already got a smith’s lungs on him?”

Bernir laughed while handing over his son to his wife who chuckled as well. Her touch immediately calmed down the infant. She kissed the baby’s forehead, her maternal instincts working wonders.

“He just needed his mama, that’s all. You’ve done well, though.”

Bernir rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. He didn’t consider himself particularly skilled at caring for small children, and his son didn’t seem especially fond of his presence either. After his extended stay at the inst.i.tute, Bernir had been trying to make amends by spending more time with his child, but things weren’t going as well as he’d hoped.

“Aye, but I’m glad you’re here. I’m not sure how you manage it so effortlessly.”

“It’s not effortless, trust me. But you’ll get the hang of it. For now, though, there is a message for you on that new magical device, our favorite runesmith wants something from you.”

“Oh? The boss does?”

Bernir sighed, grateful for the break as he stepped away from the infant’s cries. He moved over to the magical messaging device - a simplistic adaptation of Roland’s runic mail system and activated it with a touch. The runes glowed faintly, and a small screen displayed Roland’s message.

"Bernir, I’ve got some new schematics and materials I’ll need your help a.s.sembling. Stop by as soon as you can.”

“I wonder what grand invention it is this time?”

While reflecting on the message, Bernir glanced at his mechanized arm. Even now, after so much time had pa.s.sed, he still marveled at its craftsmans.h.i.+p. It felt so natural, as though it were truly his own arm - the one he had lost during the cult’s attack. What truly set it apart, though, was how it allowed him to channel his blacksmithing skills seamlessly, a feat no other golemic arm could replicate.

“Aye, time to get back to work.”

Bernir nodded, his gaze s.h.i.+fting back to the message on the screen. He was one of the few individuals privileged to possess such a device, and he still questioned what he had done to earn this honor. His eyes wandered to his own status screen, revealing plain skills and unremarkable cla.s.ses. At present, he was simply a weaponsmith - though the speed at which he had reached his current level for someone his age was, at least, a small point of pride. ?ÀΝồᛒĘŞ

“Working on all those tier 3 inventions really makes the levels go up!”

This was one of the main reasons craftsmen like him sought the tutelage of high-level masters. Instead of being confined to crafting simple items like iron nails and daggers, Bernir was working on intricate enchanted weaponry and advanced golemic components. The more complex the creation and the rarer the materials, the more experience points he earned. Though there were limits, his progress was double that of his peers - a success he owed entirely to his boss, Roland.

“...Alright, let’s get moving but first!”

Bernir stretched, his mechanical arm buzzing softly with the motion. He tiptoed toward the runic cold box his boss had helped install and opened it. Inside were several gla.s.s containers, some filled with food and others with drinks. His eyes scanned the contents, but his smile quickly faded - his cold brew from the previous night was nowhere to be found.

“Ah, dammit…”

He immediately suspected his wife. For reasons he couldn’t quite grasp, she had a strict rule against ale being in the house with the baby. As a part-dwarf, this was a frustrating matter, but he was far too intimidated by his missus to argue. Resigned, he pulled out some leftover chicken legs, placing them on a plate. The food was cold, but that was easily remedied with another runic invention in the house: a cooking furnace designed to heat food quickly.

Unlike traditional ovens, it required no fuel, running instead on a specialized socket. It was one of the many new conveniences spreading through Albrook, rapidly transforming the district where Bernir and his family lived. These modern appliances brought warm water, plumbing, and efficient heating systems into every home.

“The boss said that one day we’ll be able to heat things up without flames. What did he mean by that?”

Bernir muttered to himself as he watched the flame runes glow, steadily warming the chicken leg. Unaware of the concept of microwaves, he could only wonder at his boss’s innovative plans. Once the meat was warm, he devoured it quickly and prepared to start his day. The baby’s cries had woken him early, giving him the rare chance to greet shopkeepers as they prepared to open their stores.

As Bernir strolled through the streets, pa.s.sersby nodded and greeted him warmly.

“Morning, Mr. Bernir!”

A baker called out, holding a tray of freshly baked bread rolls.

“Here, have some!”

“I, uh, thank you.”

Bernir hesitated, wis.h.i.+ng to refuse the offer, but he knew better. If he declined, the persistent baker would only insist until he relented. Once the roll was in his hand, the baker gave a low bow, as though Bernir were a wealthy merchant or n.o.ble.

“Off to see the Rune… I mean, the High Knight Commander?”

A guard at the street corner called out, his polished armor gleaming in the morning sun. His tone was polite, but his awkward expression betrayed unease, as though he feared what Bernir might do.

“Aye, that I am.”

Bernir replied, tipping his head. As he walked through the bustling streets, more people greeted him, their smiles varied - some genuine, others painfully forced. It was something he still hadn’t quite grown accustomed to. Ever since his boss, Roland, had risen to the rank of High Knight Commander, everything had changed.

People now regarded Bernir with an air of esteem, not out of respect for him personally, but because of his a.s.sociation with Roland. It was clear they believed he had influence and feared that crossing him could lead to trouble. Though unintentional on Bernir’s part, the weight of their a.s.sumptions often felt like an uncomfortable burden.

‘Should I start acting like the boss? They don’t seem to bother him as much…”

The image of Roland clad in runic armor or draped in a flowing robe surfaced in Bernir’s mind. He knew his boss to be a kind-hearted person, someone who would never harm anyone out of malice. But not everyone shared his understanding. Many were too intimidated to approach Roland, their imaginations fueled by far-fetched rumors claiming he kidnapped people to experiment on them if they weren’t careful. Bernir knew these stories were baseless, but the fear they generated kept most people at a wary distance.

‘I probably can’t pull that off…’

He couldn’t picture himself walking around with Roland’s stoic demeanor - it just wasn’t who he was. His life now, however, was certainly different. He had become a figure of some importance, to the extent that his boss had a.s.signed him two bodyguards after the loss of his arm. Their constant presence as he moved through the city was a daily reminder of how much things had changed.

As Bernir strolled through the city streets, alive with the early bustle of people, he found himself reminiscing about his first days here. Back then, it had been a small, una.s.suming town newly invigorated by the discovery of a dungeon. Opportunities were scarce, and he had struggled to find work as a blacksmith, eventually resigning himself to a grueling gig as a porter.

It wasn’t a time he remembered fondly. He had barely sc.r.a.ped together enough money for food and had spent many nights sleeping in a stable. Looking at the bustling, vibrant city around him now, it was hard to believe how far he’d come since those difficult days. Everything had changed after his boss arrived and he knew that as long as he was here, his life would be secured.

The city had been transformed, the streets that had once been just dirt paths were now paved with smooth stone, and the buildings had been reinforced or rebuilt using advanced techniques. Mana-fueled streetlamps illuminated the thoroughfares at night, casting a warm glow that allowed trade and social gatherings to continue well into the evening. Bernir's wife often remarked how the city no longer resembled the frontier settlement it had once been - it was quickly becoming a hub of innovation and prosperity.

His entourage of bodyguards continued to trail him as he made his way out of the city. The growing presence of Solarian wors.h.i.+pers was hard to miss, with the church expanding rapidly. They had even constructed a special altar dedicated to Agni, who had been the subject of considerable buzz recently.

“Why isn’t the sacred beast here?”

“I don’t know… that person is being unreasonable!”

“Shhh, lower your voice…”

As Bernir pa.s.sed a group of priests, their hushed complaints about Agni’s absence caught his attention. From what he understood, Roland had gone into the dungeon for some unknown purpose, possibly having stumbled upon something noteworthy. The r-mail message Bernir had received hinted at the beginning of a long-term project, leaving him curious about its nature and how it might affect his own work in the days to come.

Maintaining a brisk pace, it still took him nearly half an hour from the city gate to reach Roland’s workshop. Once he was offered to use a strange contraption with two wheels, but after falling down several times, he decided that he would rather just walk.

What had once looked like an abandoned farmhouse now resembled the stronghold of an eccentric wizard. High walls obscured the view of the interior, while turrets and the occasional floating golems patrolled the perimeter. These golems, initially simple floating cubes, had evolved into more intricate designs, a clear deterrent to anyone tempted to invade. Though the shop selling their wares enjoyed a fair amount of popularity, it wasn’t their primary source of income.

Most of their revenue came from Lord Arthur and the auction house, where some of their more intricate devices were sold. One of their most profitable products, however, was surprisingly simple: explosive scrolls encased in cheap metal. These scrolls featured a small activation spot where the user could press with their thumb, triggering a precisely timed five-second countdown before detonation. It was an uncomplicated yet highly effective weapon, and its practicality had made it immensely popular among adventurers.

“Good morning.”

“ Mornin’ ”

One of the stationed knights greeted him, their presence imposing even in this setting. Roland was a bona fide knight and the High Knight Commander. While his official rank didn’t place him quite as high as a n.o.ble, he was second in command under Lord Arthur. Some even regarded him as being above the young lord in influence, thanks to his exceptional personal strength and reputation.

Bernir returned the knight’s greeting with a nod and proceeded through the ground’s heavily enhanced gates. These gates had undergone several iterations since the Lich incident and were now designed to respond to his presence. Roland had explained that multiple “scanners” worked in tandem to verify his ident.i.ty.

As Bernir approached, the gate slid open seamlessly, revealing a secondary, barred section that served as an additional layer of security. Once his ident.i.ty was confirmed, the inner entrance unlocked, granting him access to the workshop grounds.

Inside, he took in the familiar sight of the characteristic windmills and his personal workshop. What had once been little more than a rundown shack now stood as a proper facility. Bernir himself had lived in that shack during harder times, but now he had a home of his own - a real one complete with a proper family. The reality of how far he’d come was something he still struggled to fully grasp.

“Awooo!”

Before he could do anything, he heard a loud howling noise. Inside his stable-sized doghouse, Agni stood, seemingly resting, his tongue lolling out for everyone to see. In the distance, he heard the sound of children shouting; the young rascals in the orphan dorm were already awake and running around in their own section of the property. From Bernir’s perspective, this place was becoming much bigger than Arthur’s estate and, perhaps, would eventually turn into a self-sustaining fortress if they kept digging downward. It seemed his boss had already created a mage tower of his own - just an inverted one that extended underground, something Bernir hadn’t thought was possible.

“Ah, there you are Bernir.”

“Aye Boss, what we doin today?”

There he was, the man who made it all possible. While everyone knew him as Wayland the Runesmith or the Knight Commander, he preferred to call him by his nickname. He knew that Wayland was probably not entirely the person he presented himself to be, but he didn’t care. The two had spent multiple years together, and the trust he had in his boss was unshakable.

“Here, I need you to bring this over to Brylvia, she’ll know what to do with it.”

“Ah, sure.”

It seemed he had an errand to run today - not something he was particularly eager to do, but he understood the necessity. Brylvia, the official union Runesmith, wasn’t someone who would entertain just anyone. His boss had tasked him with personally delivering some schematics and delicate papers, as regular delivery services couldn’t always be trusted with such sensitive materials. The doc.u.ments likely contained secret texts and specialized runic magic - knowledge that absolutely couldn’t be allowed to leak out.

“Aye, I’ll get it to em in no time Boss, leave it to me!”

Just as he was about to leave, Roland heard the distant sound of a door creaking open. From the doorway emerged a short figure - Rastix the gnome accompanied by Roland’s own protégé, Jorg. The boy seemed to be struggling, carrying three peculiar black objects stacked on top of one another.

“Rastix? Did you manage to prepare those?”

Roland asked, halting his departure to his workshop.

“Indeed, just as you instructed. But what exactly do you need these for?”

Rastix replied, his curiosity evident. For some reason, Roland turned his gaze toward Bernir.

“I suppose now is as good a time as any. This project has been waiting for its final piece…”

Bernir frowned slightly, unsure of what project his boss was referring to. However, Roland’s glance toward the workshop hinted that it was something nearby.

“You might’ve forgotten about this one, we never did get around to finis.h.i.+ng the wheels…”

Bernir sighed internally. Roland’s tendency to drift into monologues wasn’t new, but this time, Bernir had an inkling of what he was talking about. He once more recalled the odd two-wheeled contraption his boss had once used to travel to and from the city with impressive speed. As Roland’s skills and capabilities had grown, the device was not needed. They had started building an improved model together once but had never finished it.

Together, they walked over to the workshop. There, hidden beneath a grayish cloth, was the old invention. It seemed the peculiar black, rubbery-looking objects would finally complete it.