Chapter 157
Nille left the Rune Forge Training Hall without rushing. His steps were steady, almost casual, as if what had just happened inside was something he could set aside for later analysis rather than something that demanded immediate emotional response. The corridor outside felt quieter, more ordinary, and he allowed that normality to settle over him as he headed toward the canteen, intending only to get something cold to drink and clear his mind.
But his thoughts were already processing the encounter.
Osamu Tsukuyomi's attack pattern replayed itself in his memory with unnatural clarity. Even without being at full power, Osamu's six-sword formation had carried overwhelming weight. Each strike had landed like a cannon impact—dense, compressed force delivered in precise bursts. However, Nille noticed something important in hindsight: the force, while heavy, lacked continuation. It was impact without follow-through, like each strike was designed to test resistance rather than drive him backward or break his stance completely. The attacks were structured, controlled, almost ceremonial in their intent. They measured him. They challenged him. But they did not fully commit to pushing him into collapse.
That was the key difference.
When he compared it to Elarisse Bathalienne de Tamawon, the contrast became much clearer.
Elarisse's attacks were not just strong—they were continuous. Each strike carried momentum that refused to end at the point of contact. When she punched him before, the impact was just as solid, but it behaved differently: it did not stop at collision. Instead, it transferred force forward, forcing his body, his stance, and even his internal balance to adjust in real time. It was not a single event of pressure—it was a chain reaction of displacement.
Osamu's strikes were like controlled detonations: precise, contained bursts of energy designed to test durability at the point of contact.
Elarisse's strikes were like flowing pressure systems: once they hit, the force kept moving through him, forcing adaptation beyond the initial block.
One was static impact.
The other was kinetic persistence.
Nille realized that this difference reflected not just technique, but philosophy.
Osamu fought like someone trained to evaluate, measure, and verify—each strike a question posed to the opponent: Can you withstand this? His attacks ended when the question was answered.
Elarisse fought like someone whose power did not pause at contact—her intent continued through the strike itself, meaning defense alone was never enough. Even if you blocked her, the force still progressed into your structure, forcing your body to compensate or break rhythm entirely.
That was why Osamu's attacks felt heavy but "clean."
And why Elarisse's felt heavy but unavoidable in motion.
By the time Nille reached the canteen, he had already mentally categorized it.
Osamu Tsukuyomi: precision-based pressure testing, high density impact, low continuation.
Elarisse Bathalienne de Tamawon: momentum-based force projection, sustained pressure, forced adaptation.
Both were dangerous.
But in fundamentally different ways.
Nille exhaled slowly as he picked up a drink, his mind still running calculations beneath the surface.
If the High Elven Tournament was approaching, then encounters like this were no longer just training experiences.
They were benchmarks.
And based on what he had just learned, he was still measuring himself against forces that did not even fight in the same language.
and based on his memory , the attack dosent even have malice of killing intent, does this change the way strikes differ?
Yes, it absolutely can change how a strike feels, especially for someone with Nille's level of combat awareness.
As Nille sat down with his drink, he found himself replaying the exchange again. The more he analyzed it, the more something bothered him.
Osamu's attacks had been powerful.
Extremely powerful.
Yet they felt... different.
Not weaker.
Different.
When Elarisse attacked him in the past, every instinct in his body screamed danger. Even before impact, there had been a primal sensation that his opponent intended to overwhelm whatever stood before her. Her attacks carried presence. Intent. Momentum. It was as if the force behind the strike began before the fist even moved.
Osamu's swords had not felt that way.
The impacts were undeniably heavy. Each collision carried enough force to crack stone, bend steel, and injure most awakened individuals. Yet when Nille reflected on the encounter, he realized something important.
He had never felt threatened.
Not truly.
The realization surprised him.
Osamu had never projected killing intent.
Not once.
Not even a trace.
And for experienced fighters, intent mattered.
A great deal.
Many ordinary people believed combat was purely physical—a contest of strength, speed, and technique. But seasoned warriors knew that intent changed everything. The body unconsciously reacts to danger long before the mind fully processes it.
An attack meant to kill and an attack meant to test may look identical from the outside.
Yet they feel completely different to the person receiving them.
When someone attacks with killing intent, their entire body aligns toward a single objective: destruction. Their movements become sharper. Their commitment becomes absolute. They unconsciously sacrifice safety, efficiency, and restraint because the goal is no longer control.
The goal is ending the fight.
That intent creates pressure.
Not magical pressure.
Psychological pressure.
Instinctive pressure.
The sensation that one mistake means death.
Nille remembered fighting Elarisse.
Every strike she delivered felt alive.
Not because she necessarily wanted to kill him, but because she fought with complete commitment. There was no hesitation in her movements. No reserve. No uncertainty.
When her fist connected, the force continued forward because her entire body, spirit, and intent were still moving through the attack.
Osamu was different.
His strikes ended the moment their purpose was fulfilled.
The swords hit.
Measured.
Evaluated.
Then moved on.
There was no emotional commitment behind them.
No desire to crush.
No desire to dominate.
No desire to destroy.
Just observation.
Like a master craftsman tapping a blade to test its quality.
That realization changed Nille's entire understanding of the encounter.
If Osamu's attacks felt like cannonballs despite holding back, despite lacking killing intent, despite not committing fully to his strikes...
Then how powerful was he actually?
The thought was unsettling.
Because Nille suddenly realized he had never seen Osamu fight seriously.
Not once.
Everything inside the Rune Forge had been a conversation disguised as combat.
A lesson disguised as a test.
Even the six swords now seemed different in hindsight.
They weren't weapons deployed to defeat him.
They were measuring instruments.
Osamu wasn't trying to win.
He was gathering answers.
Nille took another sip of his drink and leaned back in his chair.
Then another thought occurred to him.
If Osamu's attacks lacked killing intent...
And if Elarisse's attacks carried relentless forward pressure...
Then perhaps the difference wasn't simply power.
Perhaps it was experience.
Osamu fought like a man who had spent centuries learning exactly how much force was necessary.
Elarisse fought like a force of nature that had never needed to learn restraint.
One was a blade held by a master.
The other was a storm.
Neither comparison made Nille feel particularly comfortable.
Because according to Osamu's own words, he wasn't even close to Apo Lakkay Masalanta or Elarisse Bathalienne de Tamawon.
And if that was true, then the gap between Nille and the beings moving behind the world's hidden history was far larger than he had originally imagined.
The realization should have been discouraging.
Instead, Nille found himself oddly calm.
At least now he had a clearer benchmark.
He knew where he stood.
And more importantly, he knew how far he still had to climb.
As Nille sat alone in the cafeteria, a cold drink resting untouched in his hand, his thoughts drifted far from the conversations and movement around him.
For the first time in a long while, he wasn't thinking about powers, bloodlines, or ancient prophecies.
He was thinking about combat.
Real combat.
And more importantly, where he actually stood within it.
The encounter with Osamu had unintentionally exposed something that Nille had been overlooking for quite some time.
The difference between surviving a fight and understanding a fight.
When thefive of them faced the troll hordes, the situation had been chaotic from the beginning. They had been outnumbered, pressured from every direction, and forced into constant reaction.
There had been no room for refinement.
No room for analysis.
No room for strategy beyond immediate survival.
Kill.
Move.
Avoid dying.
Repeat.
Looking back, Nille realized that experience could hardly be called proper combat training.
It was warfare.
Raw survival.
A person could survive a battlefield and still know very little about fighting skilled opponents.
The realization settled uncomfortably in his chest.
Because until now, much of his confidence had been built upon those encounters.
Yet when he stripped away the chaos, what remained?
His thoughts naturally shifted toward Eruko.
The Ogre Hunter.
A a evolve and sentient being who had neither possessed legendary bloodlines nor ancient blessings.
Yet during their sparring sessions, Nille had never truly been able to defeat him.
Not once.
At the time, he had blamed experience.
The difference in age.
The difference in training.
But now he saw it differently.
If he couldn't consistently overcome Eruko...
Then how could he expect to defeat opponents who were stronger, faster, and far more experienced?
The answer was simple.
He couldn't.
Not yet.
That wasn't self-doubt.
It was reality.
Nille had always considered himself capable.
A good fighter.
A talented awakened.
But compared to who?
Compared to academy students?
Compared to newly awakened individuals?
Compared to ordinary hunters?
Those were completely different standards from the people whose names kept appearing around him.
Osamu.
Apo Lakkay Masalanta.
Elarisse Bathalienne de Tamawon.
The more he thought about it, the more obvious the gap became.
His mind eventually drifted toward Elarisse.
And strangely enough, that comparison irritated him the most.
Physically, she wasn't even imposing.
She was only slightly taller than Lin Yue.
Their overall builds weren't that different either.
Lin Yue was arguably more visibly athletic and carried more natural curves.
On paper, neither woman looked like someone capable of overwhelming powerful awakened fighters through sheer physical force alone.
Yet appearances had nothing to do with reality.
Nille still remembered the first time Elarisse had hit him.
The memory alone made him grimace.
She had beaten the absolute life out of him.
Not through tricks.
Not through overwhelming magical abilities.
Just superior skill.
Superior experience.
Superior understanding of combat.
Every movement she made carried purpose.
Every strike flowed into the next.
Every adjustment happened naturally.
She wasn't stronger because she possessed more power.
She was stronger because she understood exactly how to use the power she already had.
That realization lingered.
Nille wasn't weak.
Not even close.
A seventeen-year-old capable of wielding the Symbiote Thread, managing a Spiritual Tree Core, maintaining a Spatial Enclave, and surviving encounters that would kill most awakened individuals was objectively extraordinary.
But extraordinary compared to average people didn't mean extraordinary compared to monsters.
And lately, his life seemed determined to place him in the path of monsters.
The thought made him sigh quietly.
His drink remained forgotten.
Around him, the cafeteria continued its normal rhythm.
Rune Forge personnel came and went.
Researchers discussed projects.
Hunters exchanged mission reports.
Students argued over assignments.
A few individuals glanced toward Nille.
Then glanced again.
It wasn't difficult to notice him sitting there completely motionless, staring into space as if trying to solve a puzzle only he could see.
One technician carrying a stack of reports nudged a coworker.
"What do you think he's thinking about?"
The other looked over briefly.
Nille's expression wasn't troubled.
Nor was it relaxed.
It looked more like someone reconstructing a battle from memory.
"Probably training," the coworker replied.
"Looks serious."
A third person joined the conversation.
"Maybe he's planning for the High Elven Tournament."
"Or maybe he finally realized how much trouble he's in."
That earned a few quiet chuckles.
Meanwhile, Nille remained completely unaware of the speculation.
His attention was elsewhere.
Because for perhaps the first time since awakening, he wasn't asking how to become stronger.
He was asking a far more important question.
"How strong am I actually?"
"Not compared to students."
"Not compared to trolls."
"Not compared to ordinary hunters."
"But compared to the people standing at the top."
"The people who had survived centuries."
"The people whose names were written into history."
"The people who could alter the fate of entire regions through a single decision."
That question had no easy answer.
But he suspected the High Elven Tournament would give him one.
And whether he liked the result or not, it was something he needed to know.
The Rune Forge cafeteria remained busy as ever, filled with the sounds of conversations, clattering utensils, and the occasional laughter of students and personnel enjoying a brief break from their duties. Yet amidst all that activity, Nille sat alone near one of the large windows overlooking the city below.
His drink had long since gone untouched.
The city stretched beyond the glass, a sea of lights, towers, bridges, and moving vehicles. People lived their lives below without knowing how many strange forces operated behind the scenes to keep their world stable.
Nille barely noticed any of it.
His thoughts were elsewhere.
Far away.
Lost somewhere between Osamu's warnings, the troll horde, Elarisse's overwhelming strength, and the growing realization that his current abilities were nowhere near enough for what seemed to be approaching.
Elsewhere inside Rune Forge, Head Merchant Rume Ironbark had spent the better part of an hour searching for him.
Nille's room was empty.
The training hall had already been cleared.
Eventually one of the personnel informed him that the young awakened had been seen entering the cafeteria earlier.
That was enough for Rume.
The dwarf merchant adjusted his coat and made his way there immediately.
When he entered, it didn't take long to spot him.
Nille was difficult to miss.
Not because he was drawing attention.
Quite the opposite.
He was completely still.
Staring through the large window as if he could somehow see beyond the city itself.
Rume slowed his pace slightly.
The old merchant had spent decades negotiating with nobles, merchants, adventurers, politicians, awakened organizations, criminal syndicates, and more than a few supernatural entities.
Reading people had become second nature to him.
And the moment he saw Nille's expression, he had a fairly good idea of what was happening.
The boy was thinking.
Not casually.
Not idly.
He was evaluating something.
Most likely everything that had happened since the troll incident.
The attack.
The losses.
The revelations.
The endless stream of increasingly dangerous encounters.
Rume quietly pulled out a chair and sat across from him.
Nille finally blinked and shifted his attention.
"Oh."
Rume raised an eyebrow.
"'Oh'?"
Nille rubbed the back of his head.
"Sorry."
The merchant snorted.
"Good. At least you're still alive enough to apologize."
A faint smile appeared on Nille's face.
Only briefly.
Rume noticed.
Then his gaze shifted toward the city beyond the glass.
For a few moments neither spoke.
Both simply observed the skyline.
Eventually Rume broke the silence.
"You're thinking about the trolls."
It wasn't a question.
Nille nodded.
"Partly."
"Meaning?"
Nille considered his answer.
"Strength."
Rume's expression remained neutral.
"I've met stronger people recently."
"That's usually how life works."
Nille chuckled softly.
"Not like this."
That made Rume glance at him.
The merchant saw something different in the young man compared to when they had first met.
Not fear.
Not panic.
Something more dangerous.
Perspective.
Nille was beginning to understand the scale of the world.
And once someone reached that point, they never looked at things the same way again.
Rume Ironbark understood that feeling very well.
Because he was experiencing it himself.
The merchant leaned back slightly.
For all practical purposes, Nille was now Rune Forge's greatest investment.
Its most valuable partnership.
Its largest source of future opportunity.
Its greatest asset.
And under normal circumstances, Rume would have been pleased.
Extremely pleased.
The problem was that nothing surrounding Nille was normal.
Not even remotely.
The more information Rume gathered, the more uncomfortable he became.
Ancient bloodlines.
Seed Bearers.
Divine relics.
Spatial anomalies.
Powerful awakened beings.
Academy deans.
Entities connected to myths most people dismissed as folklore.
Every thread somehow kept leading back to the same person.
Nille.
Rume had spent his life dealing with risks.
Economic risks.
Political risks.
Military risks.
Trade risks.
But the things surrounding Nille were beyond any category he was accustomed to handling.
A failed business venture could cost fortunes.
A political mistake could cost influence.
A bad negotiation could cost years of effort.
The things circling around Nille?
Those could reshape entire regions.
Possibly much more.
That was what worried him.
Not because he feared Nille.
But because he feared the scale of the forces beginning to converge around him.
Rume looked out the window again.
For the first time in many years, the veteran merchant found himself feeling something unfamiliar.
Not uncertainty.
Not fear.
But the uncomfortable realization that the world was becoming larger than the systems he understood.
And sitting across from him was a seventeen-year-old who seemed destined to walk directly into the center of that storm.
The merchant sighed heavily.
"You know," he finally said, "most sponsors worry about whether their investments will lose money."
Nille looked at him.
Rume gave a dry laugh.
"Meanwhile, I'm worried mine might accidentally start a new chapter of history."
That finally earned a genuine smile from Nille.
Unfortunately for Rume Ironbark, the smile didn't reassure him at all. Because the more he learned about the young man sitting across from him, the more he suspected that history had already started moving, and Nille was simply one of the few people who hadn't realized it yet.
Rume Ironbark studied Nille for a long moment before speaking again. Unlike the academy instructors who measured talent through tests, grades, and performance reports, Rume measured people through outcomes. He looked at results, decisions, risks, and opportunities. That perspective had allowed him to build Rune Forge into what it was today.
And the more he looked at Nille, the more convinced he became of something.
"You know," Rume began, folding his arms across his chest, "I don't think you've ever shown anyone the full extent of what you can actually do."
Nille raised an eyebrow.
Rume shook his head.
"No, not hidden intentionally. That's not what I mean."
The merchant searched for the right words.
"I can't put my finger on it exactly, but every time I look at your records, every mission report, every witness account, every anomaly connected to you... something feels off."
Nille remained silent.
"Your power is completely off the charts."
That finally earned a reaction.
A small frown.
Rume immediately held up a hand.
"Not your current combat ability. That's different."
He pointed toward Nille.
"I'm talking about your potential."
The old merchant leaned forward.
"Right now, you're like a child given the strength to crush a stone pillar with his bare hands."
Nille couldn't help but chuckle slightly.
Rume didn't.
"The problem isn't the strength."
"It's that the child doesn't know how to use it properly."
The words settled heavily between them.
"You can already do things that first-year students shouldn't even be capable of attempting."
Rume began counting on his fingers.
"Spatial manipulation."
"Advanced spell structures."
"An evolving magical core."
"Artifact integration."
"Independent combat capability against threats most students would immediately retreat from."
He shook his head.
"Do you know what's ridiculous about that?"
Nille already suspected the answer.
"Those aren't first-year skills."
Rume pointed toward him again.
"Those are graduating student skills."
"Some of them aren't even graduating student skills."
The merchant let out a long breath.
"Casting spatial spells isn't special by itself. Plenty of seniors can do that."
"But the reason most people don't use them constantly is because of spiritual consumption."
That was the part many younger awakened overlooked.
Powerful techniques existed everywhere.
The issue was sustaining them.
A fourth-year academy student might be capable of opening spatial pathways.
They just couldn't do it repeatedly without exhausting themselves.
Nille could.
And that was the terrifying part.
"The things you do aren't impressive because they exist," Rume said.
"They're impressive because you're seventeen."
The old merchant shook his head again.
"That's the difference."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Rume's expression changed.
The confidence of a merchant gave way to something more personal.
Something closer to regret.
"I owe you an apology."
Nille blinked.
That wasn't what he expected.
Rume looked out toward the city.
"When I first sponsored you, I thought I was investing in a talented student."
A dry laugh escaped him.
"Then you started bringing me impossible situations."
His gaze remained on the skyline.
"Ancient artifacts."
"Unknown magical ecosystems."
"Unique resources."
"Knowledge nobody should have found."
"Profits that shouldn't exist."
Every item he listed represented enormous gains for Rune Forge.
And Rume knew it.
"I indulged myself."
His voice carried genuine honesty.
"I saw opportunities."
"I saw discoveries."
"I saw growth."
His eyes shifted back toward Nille.
"And I failed to consider the consequences."
The merchant paused.
"Not because I didn't care."
"Because I got used to the results."
That admission felt more sincere than any formal apology could have.
Rume had become accustomed to Nille accomplishing the impossible.
And in doing so, he'd stopped asking what those accomplishments were costing him.
To his surprise, Nille simply shrugged.
"I already knew."
Rume stared at him.
"You knew?"
Nille nodded.
"From the beginning."
The merchant laughed despite himself.
Of course he did.
Nille wasn't naive.
Maybe young.
Maybe inexperienced.
But not naive.
"It's part of growing up."
The young man said it casually.
Not bitterly.
Not accusingly.
Just honestly.
Rume found himself smiling.
Then Nille added something unexpected.
"I actually like being a shaman."
The answer caught the merchant off guard.
Nille looked toward the city beyond the window.
"I like helping people."
"I like solving problems."
"I like seeing people get through difficult situations."
For a moment, he sounded far younger than his recent experiences suggested.
Rume listened carefully.
Then slowly shook his head.
"That's where I think you're wrong."
Nille turned toward him.
Rume folded his arms again.
"You think helping people is your primary motivation."
The merchant's eyes narrowed slightly.
"I don't."
Nille frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Rume thought about all the reports he'd read.
Every mission.
Every incident.
Every confrontation.
Then he answered.
"I think you're a hunter."
The words surprised even Nille.
Rume continued.
"You see people in trouble."
"You help them."
"That's true."
"you don't look for trouble, but it seems trouble has a way of finding you"
" every time there's a mystery, a dangerous area, an unexplored location, a powerful enemy, or a difficult challenge..."
He pointed directly at Nille.
"You go toward it, you don't act on your male bravado, you never act based of arrogance, "
Not because someone ordered him.
Not because he was rewarded.
Not because it was safe.
Because he wanted to know.
Because he wanted to understand.
Because he wanted to test himself.
Helping people happened.
But it happened along the way.
Rume leaned back.
"A hunter explores."
"A hunter adapts."
"A hunter enters dangerous places because nobody else can."
His expression softened slightly.
"And from what I've seen, that's exactly what you do."
Nille remained quiet.
Because he couldn't immediately argue against it.
Eventually he sighed.
"I'll admit something."
Rume waited.
"When I first entered the academy..."
A faint smile appeared on Nille's face.
"I was a little arrogant."
The merchant barked out a laugh.
"Only a little?"
That earned him a smirk.
Nille nodded.
"I thought I was ahead of most applicants when it came to fighting."
And to be fair, there had been reasons for that belief.
Before the academy.
Before awakening.
Before any of this.
He'd already spent years dealing with problems most students never experienced.
"I was known as a street brawler."
Rume raised an eyebrow.
That was new information.
Nille immediately clarified.
"Not the type that starts fights."
The distinction mattered.
"I just didn't like bullies."
" i had to figth back to survive"
The memory made him smile faintly.
Back then, things had seemed much simpler.
Someone got pushed around.
Someone got hurt.
Someone crossed a line.
And Nille would step in.
No politics.
No ancient spirits.
No divine seeds.
No hidden realms.
Just people.
Rume studied him carefully.
Then nodded.
That explained quite a lot.
Not the powers.
Not the mysteries.
Not the impossible situations.
But the person underneath them.
Because beneath all the anomalies, bloodlines, relics, and legends, Nille still approached the world with the same instinct he'd developed years ago.
When something dangerous threatened others, he stepped forward.
The difference now was that the things threatening people were no longer schoolyard bullies.
They were ancient forces capable of reshaping history.
And somehow, Nille kept stepping forward anyway.
Rume leaned back in his chair and studied Nille for a moment.
"So what's different now?"
The question was simple.
But Nille understood exactly what he meant.
What was different between the teenager who used to settle disputes in alleyways and the person sitting here now?
What had changed between the street brawler who hated bullies and the awakened shaman standing at the center of forces older than history?
Nille looked out the cafeteria window again.
The city stretched endlessly beyond the glass.
People walked the streets below.
Workers headed home.
Students hurried between buildings.
Merchants closed their shops.
Ordinary lives continuing without knowing how fragile the line between normality and disaster truly was.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.
"Now it's a bigger matter."
Rume remained silent.
"Back then, if I made a mistake..."
Nille paused.
"The consequences usually ended with me."
A fight.
An injury.
A suspension.
A broken nose.
Nothing that couldn't heal.
But things were different now.
A lot different.
Nille's gaze lowered slightly.
"Other people can get hurt."
The words carried more weight than he intended.
"Other people might end up paying the price for my mistakes."
For the first time since sitting down, Rume noticed genuine concern in Nille's expression.
Not fear for himself.
Fear for others.
Nille continued.
"I have Lin Yue."
A brief smile appeared.
"Whether she likes it or not."
Rume snorted.
"Good luck convincing her otherwise."
Nille ignored the comment.
"I have you."
That earned a surprised blink from the merchant.
"I have Professor Caelum and Miyako."
"Nhulla ."
"and all of the Rune Forge personnel."
His eyes moved around the cafeteria.
Many of the staff were familiar faces now.
Researchers.
Engineers.
Craftsmen.
Hunters.
Receptionists.
Logistics workers.
Sales Personnel.
People he had spent months interacting with.
People whose names he actually knew.
"Among the dozens of people working under your banner," Nille said, "not one of them has ever treated me like I was nobody."
Rume remained silent.
Nille wasn't finished.
"I know some of that respect exists because of what I've brought to Rune Forge."
His tone was practical.
Not self-deprecating.
Just honest.
"Resources."
"Discoveries."
Money.
Influence.
Opportunities.
He wasn't naive enough to pretend those things didn't matter.
"Maybe some of them see me as a valuable client."
"Maybe some see me as an investment."
"Maybe some only know me because of my achievements."
He shrugged.
"That's normal."
The world worked that way.
People valued what contributed to their lives.
There was nothing wrong with that.
"But regardless of the reason..."
Nille looked directly at Rume.
"They've never done anything that would make me dislike them."
The merchant found himself unexpectedly quiet.
Nille continued.
"They show respect."
"They do their jobs."
"They treat me fairly."
"They trust me."
A faint smile appeared.
"And honestly..."
He looked around the cafeteria again.
"That's enough."
Rume stared at him.
For a moment, he saw something that many people missed.
Nille wasn't attached to people because they were useful.
He wasn't measuring relationships through status, influence, or obligation.
His standards were absurdly simple.
Treat him with respect.
Treat others fairly.
Don't intentionally harm innocent people.
And he'd remember it.
The realization made Rume shake his head.
"You're a strange kid."
Nille laughed softly.
"I've heard that before."
"I'm serious."
Rume folded his arms.
"Most people would be thinking about how to protect themselves."
Nille nodded.
"I am."
"That's not what you just described."
"No."
The answer came immediately.
Rume's eyebrow rose.
Nille looked toward the city again.
"If something comes after me..."
His expression hardened slightly.
"That's my problem."
The merchant already knew there was a "but" coming.
"But if something comes after me and ends up hurting people around me because I wasn't prepared..."
His fingers tightened slightly around his drink.
"Then that's different."
Silence settled between them.
Rume suddenly understood these events , had affected Nille more than he admitted.
Not because he feared the danger.
Not because he feared the clan.
Not because he feared whatever ancient forces were moving in the shadows.
He feared becoming the reason other people got caught in the crossfire.
That was the burden he was struggling with.
Not survival.
Responsibility.
The old merchant let out a long sigh.
Then he laughed.
A genuine laugh this time.
Nille looked confused.
"What's funny?"
Rume shook his head.
"You know what your problem is?"
Nille immediately looked suspicious.
"What?"
The merchant pointed at him.
"You think responsibility means carrying everything by yourself."
The young shaman opened his mouth.
Rume cut him off immediately.
"No."
The answer was firm.
"Listen carefully."
His expression became serious.
"Those people you're worried about?"
Nille nodded.
"Lin Yue."
"Professor Caelum."
"Nhulla."
"The Rune Forge staff."
"My people."
Another nod.
Rume leaned forward.
"They're not children."
The words landed harder than expected.
"They make their own choices."
"They understand risks."
"They decide where they stand."
His voice softened slightly.
"Do you think the hunters here don't know danger?"
"Do you think researchers studying anomalies are unaware of consequences?"
"Do you think Lin Yue would run away if she learned things were becoming more dangerous?"
Nille immediately knew the answer.
Absolutely not.
The image of Lin Yue running from a challenge was almost impossible to imagine.
Rume smiled.
"Exactly."
The merchant pointed around the cafeteria.
"The people here aren't standing beside you because they're being forced."
"They're standing here because they chose to."
For a moment, Nille didn't know how to respond.
Because that perspective had never occurred to him.
Rume nodded toward the window.
"The world is getting bigger."
"More dangerous."
"More complicated."
Then his expression turned firm.
"But don't insult the people around you by assuming they're too weak to decide what risks they're willing to take."
Silence followed.
A thoughtful silence.
And for the first time that day, Nille found himself considering a possibility he hadn't before.
Maybe responsibility wasn't just protecting people.
Maybe it was trusting them enough to make their own decisions.
Even when those decisions involved standing beside him.
Rume watched Nille sink deeper into thought and immediately knew the young man was doing what he always did—taking every responsibility he could find and stacking it onto his own shoulders.
The old merchant sighed.
Then he reached across the table and lightly tapped the side of Nille's drink.
"Smile, lad."
Nille blinked.
"What?"
"Smile."
The merchant grinned.
"You look like someone who just discovered the world is ending tomorrow."
Nille let out a small snort despite himself.
Rume nodded triumphantly.
"There. That's better."
The old dwarf leaned back in his chair, folding his arms comfortably.
"You're seventeen."
The statement hung in the air.
"Seventeen."
He repeated it slowly.
"Do you understand how ridiculous it is that you keep talking like an old man?"
Nille opened his mouth.
Rume immediately cut him off.
"No."
The merchant pointed a finger at him.
"I've met old men."
"Some of them were wise."
"Most of them were idiots."
That earned another reluctant smile.
Satisfied, Rume continued.
"You are seventeen."
"So many things are going to happen in your life that you cannot predict."
"You'll meet people."
"You'll lose people."
"You'll make mistakes."
"You'll succeed."
"You'll fail."
"You'll discover things about yourself you didn't even know existed."
His expression softened.
"And that's normal."
The noise of the cafeteria faded into the background as Nille listened.
"You keep trying to understand everything before it happens."
Rume shook his head.
"Life doesn't work that way."
The merchant gestured toward the city outside the window.
"Look at that."
Nille followed his gaze.
Thousands of lights illuminated the streets below.
Countless people moving through lives filled with their own struggles, victories, and failures.
"Every person out there woke up , with their own plans. and their own fate"
Rume smiled faintly.
"And I'd bet half of them ended up doing something completely different before the day was over."
The old merchant leaned forward slightly.
"That's life."
"You don't get to understand it first and live it later."
"You live it first."
"Then spend years figuring out what happened."
For a moment, Nille found himself genuinely considering the advice.
Because despite everything Rume had accomplished, despite his wealth and influence, the merchant rarely pretended to have all the answers.
He simply had experience.
And experience carried its own kind of wisdom.
Rume noticed the thoughtful look on Nille's face and nodded.
"Earlier you said something important."
Nille glanced up.
"You said your mess is your consequence."
The young shaman nodded.
"I believe that."
"I know you do."
Rume's smile widened.
"And honestly?"
"That's a good mindset."
His expression became more serious.
"A man should own his mistakes."
"He should accept the consequences of his actions."
"He should never expect others to clean up every mess he creates."
Nille found himself agreeing.
Then Rume lifted a finger.
"But."
There it was.
The inevitable "but."
"If you were living inside a cage..."
The merchant paused.
"If your entire life was only about yourself..."
"Then that philosophy would be enough."
Nille frowned slightly.
Rume gestured around them.
"But that's not your situation anymore."
The cafeteria.
Rune Forge.
The academy.
Lin Yue.
The professors.
The hunters.
The researchers.
The friends and allies he'd accumulated without even realizing it.
"You have a life now."
The statement was simple.
Yet somehow it felt heavier than anything anybody had told him.
Rume continued quietly.
"A real one."
"You have people who know your name."
"People who look for you when you disappear."
"People who worry when you get injured."
"People who celebrate when you succeed."
The merchant smiled knowingly.
"People who would probably drag your unconscious body out of a dungeon if they had to."
Nille immediately thought of Lin Yue.
That mental image alone made him laugh.
"Exactly."
Rume pointed at him.
"See? You already know who I'm talking about."
The old merchant's expression became gentler.
"Most people spend their entire lives looking for that."
His gaze drifted toward the city.
"Some never find it."
A moment of silence followed.
Then Rume spoke again.
"This is part of having a real life."
His voice carried an unusual sincerity.
"And having a real life means having something worth protecting."
Nille remained quiet.
Because that statement struck deeper than he expected.
Not because of the danger.
But because of the implication.
For years, survival had been enough.
Getting through the next day.
The next problem.
The next obstacle.
But somewhere along the way, things had changed.
Without realizing it, he had started building something.
Relationships.
Friendships.
Trust.
A place where people expected him to return.
A place he actually wanted to return to.
Rume seemed to notice the realization forming.
"Protecting something isn't a burden, lad."
The merchant's voice lowered.
"It's proof."
"Proof that your life has grown beyond yourself."
The old dwarf smiled.
"A man who has nothing to lose fights because he has no choice."
His eyes met Nille's.
"A man who has something worth protecting fights because he has a reason."
The distinction lingered between them.
And for perhaps the first time that day, Nille understood what Rume was trying to tell him.
The people around him weren't chains.
They weren't responsibilities weighing him down.
They weren't weaknesses that enemies could exploit.
They were the very reason he kept moving forward.
The reason he trained.
The reason he survived.
The reason he cared.
Rume finished his drink and stood from the table.
Then he placed a hand on Nille's shoulder.
"Whatever ancient nonsense is trying to drag you into its story..."
The merchant grinned.
"Make sure it learns it's interrupting yours."
For the first time since leaving the Rune Forge Training Hall, Nille found himself smiling without forcing it.
A genuine smile.
Small.
But real.
And somehow, that felt more important than all the warnings, prophecies, and revelations he had received that day.