After several long hours of discussion and compromise, Jacob finally concluded his negotiations with the envoys, dismissed them with the appropriate courtesy, and withdrew to the solitude of his room.

The moment he crossed the threshold his steps carried him unerringly toward the desk by the window, where he lowered himself into the chair, reached for a pen, and opened the book already lying there, its pages crowded with the familiar shapes of his work.

The rest of the world quickly fell away from his thoughts. His attention narrowed until it rested solely on the thousands of drawings that filled page after page, runes, each painstakingly altered by the smallest of adjustments, each change enough to turn one symbol into something entirely different from the last.

This was his method, the system he had grown accustomed to over the past year: slow and steady trial and error, the endless refining of imperfection into something that might resemble the truth. What he sought tonight was a true rune for minor healing, an achievement that had eluded him thus far but which he was determined to master.

Over the course of this past year he had resisted the temptation to scatter his attention across countless different paths. Instead he had tried to move with deliberate focus in a single direction, choosing strength that would not merely destroy, but endure, the sort of strength that could allow him to survive when others might fall and protect those he did not wish to lose.

He had no need to rival the brilliance of Arthur, who had dedicated himself to runes of raw destruction, nor the monstrous efficiency of Abel, whose runes had already given him a reputation that others whispered with fear. Compared to them Jacob often felt like the odd one out.

That was not to say he was weak. His victories were real, his progress undeniable, yet there was an unmistakable difference in how his battles were perceived. To end an opponent with a single devastating rune was dramatic, almost awe-inspiring. To end them through careful planning and clever combinations of runes was no less effective, but it lacked the same impact in the eyes of others. It was not overwhelming power, but the quieter edge of calculation.

Still, his progress had been steady. Alongside the flame rune and the short-distance teleportation rune, Jacob had mastered a barrier rune, a strength-enhancing rune, and several shaping runes that greatly expanded his possibilities.

Shaping runes were deceptively simple in theory yet remarkably complex in practice. A flame rune, for instance, could easily release a torrent of fire, but to truly wield it meant more than that, you should be able to mold that fire into a sword, twist it into a whirling tornado, condense it into spears, or weave it into any form imagination allowed.

Such feats became possible only when a flame rune was combined with a shaping rune. The process demanded added complexity and precision, but the results justified the effort.

Jacob had managed to learn four shaping true runes and successfully integrate them with his flame rune. More importantly, he had learned to make proper use of his inner world. Within that inner space he had succeeded in storing four runes, which stood as his current limit as a rank ten.

These ingrained runes had become part of him, etched into his being so that, provided he had the mana to sustain them, he could summon their effects instantly. At present his stored runes included the base flame rune, the teleportation rune, the barrier rune, and a variant flame rune he had modified to conjure chains of fire, an invention that pleased him not for its destructive power, but for the versatility it afforded in battle.

Jacob had always found himself in quiet awe of the inner world. It was not something that could be reasoned through or explained in any precise terms, but rather a space that simply existed, hidden within a person's soul, where runes could be stored in ways that defied ordinary understanding.

Even the method of placing them there carried that strange mixture of mystery and simplicity, one needed only to focus upon the rune and will it into that hidden space, and somehow it would settle into place as though it had belonged there all along.

Over time he had come to understand that will itself had become the most important part of his power. Among Lazarus' students, each had been marked by some distinctive gift or affinity. Arthur was both mage and knight, a rare combination, and the feats he performed on pure instinct never failed to surprise even those who trained alongside him.

Abel's affinity was no less remarkable, for his connection to death was far deeper than any within his family, and in his hands runes that dealt with death or souls grew exponentially stronger, as though they had been designed with him in mind, and he did not hesitate to bend and alter them until they fit him perfectly.

For a long time Jacob had wondered whether he possessed anything of the same sort, something beyond the ordinary reach of his aspect. It was only when Lazarus introduced them to the concept of will that Jacob came to see where his own gift lay. When Yggdrasil instructed him to imagine his attack becoming faster or stronger, the simple act of willing it so had brought about a tangible difference.

Words carried power, and they could influence aura and mana directly, but Jacob soon realized that his talent went further. For him it was not only words spoken aloud that carried weight, his very thoughts could shape the world around him.

As far as he knew, no one else within the kingdom possessed that particular ability, and the effect of his will when applied through thought alone was markedly stronger than when others attempted the same with words. With this strength he could briefly reach firepower that stood on the level of the weakest rank nines, which might not sound significant in idle conversation but in truth was extraordinary, for the gulf between ranks was vast and unforgiving.

It was one of the reasons he could remain formidable despite the relatively small number of runes he commanded. Of course, it was no inexhaustible advantage. Each use placed an immense strain upon his mind, and even with his enhanced mental capacity he had found he could not manage the effort more than six times in a single battle before exhaustion overtook him.

Leaning forward at his desk, Jacob set himself once more to the steady work of his trial and error. He drew rune after rune into his book, and with each stroke of the pen the shape he sketched was slowly mirrored in the air beside him, a faint echo of the true form that flickered into being only to dissolve a moment later as the attempted activation failed.

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Again and again he tried, his failures mounting, his patience tested, until the pages filled with endless variations of the same elusive pattern. Mana replenishment potions were drained one after another to fuel his attempts, yet after hundreds of drawn symbols, each minutely different from the last, not a single one yielded the healing rune he sought.

'This has to be one of the most pathetic and yet at the same time admirable things I've seen,' Yggdrasil muttered in his mind as he watched the endless scrawls fill Jacob's book, 'it is almost a miracle that you have already managed to uncover so many like this, for without some stroke of fortune one could easily spend years searching for a single true rune.'

'Then help me out,' Jacob replied, his hand moving steadily as he sketched another variation, each line carrying the weight of concentration though he already suspected it would end the same way as the rest.

At this Yggdrasil gave a noise that was half an exclamation and half a sigh, 'I nearly forgot. My quests. Let me think. Well, I suppose I pity you a little, so when you reach rank nine I will teach you one myself, and as an added kindness I will tell you about the origin of the Ranti family.'

'Why Ranti?' Jacob asked without pausing, though curiosity stirred behind the flat tone.

'Why else? Your next task after that will be to defeat Abel, and it would be wise if you learned a few things beforehand.'

Jacob groaned softly, set his jaw, and bent once more over the parchment, losing himself in another string of failures that stretched into an hour before the silence of the room was broken by the creak of the door. A heavy scent of sweat drifted in, sharp and unmistakable.

"Can't you clean up before coming here?" Jacob muttered without raising his eyes from the page.

Arthur walked in regardless, shutting the door behind him with a careless push, before collapsing onto his bed with the thump of someone who had been training until exhaustion. He lay there for a moment, chest rising and falling with a few heavy breaths, and then turned his head until Jacob was in his line of sight.

"Fight me tomorrow," he demanded in a voice that still carried the edge of exertion.

"No," Jacob answered immediately, not even considering it, and then after the briefest pause he added, "I'm going to a site next week, do you want to come?"

Arthur blinked, went quiet for a heartbeat, and then suddenly burst into laughter. "You're inviting me? Well, thanks for that, but I already have plans with Sir Brimm."

"Oh," Jacob said simply, finally glancing over his shoulder. "Where to?"

"He said there's a monster-infested plain on the outskirts of the kingdom, and he's taking me there to clear it with him. If it goes well, I should be able to ascend as a knight when it's done."

"And as a mage?" Jacob asked in turn.

Arthur gave a small, satisfied smile and let out a light chuckle. "I'm still about a month away from that."

Jacob closed the book in front of him with a quiet snap, stood up, and crossed the room towards the door.

"Jessica?" Arthur called after him just as he opened it.

Jacob only nodded in answer before stepping out into the hall. The walk to the kitchen was short, and at this hour he knew his siblings would have already eaten, which meant he could collect what he came for without distraction. Entering the kitchen, he quickly caught the eye of one of the chefs, who set aside his work, wiped his hands on his apron, and came over carrying a plate.

"I think she'll like today's dish," the man said with a faint smile, holding it out. "I tried something new."

"Thank you," Jacob replied, taking the plate from him with a nod before turning and leaving once more.

From there he descended towards the underground training rooms. There were many scattered throughout the estate, each suited for different forms of practice, but he already knew which one to head to, for Jessica always preferred the same chamber no matter what else was available.

Without bothering to knock, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. The air struck him immediately with the mingled stench of sweat and the metallic tang of blood. In the centre of the room Jessica was already at work, her broadsword moving in relentless arcs as she hacked at a battered training dummy, her movements sharp and precise despite the clear exhaustion that clung to her frame.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, the plate balanced carefully in his hand as he walked towards Jessica, and once he was close enough that her broad swings would no longer reach him he called out, "I brought food. The chef said it's something new today."

Jessica's sword slowed for a brief second before she resumed the steady rhythm of her strikes, her voice carrying over the dull thud of metal against the training dummy. "You're early."

"I wanted to talk a little," Jacob replied, his tone even, though there was a trace of weight beneath it. "I'll be gone for two weeks after all."

This time Jessica stopped completely, letting the sword fall from her hand with a soft clang against the floor before she turned to face him. "You're going where?"

Jacob studied her carefully before answering. In just a single year she had changed more than he would have thought possible, she now stood nearly eye to eye with him, her frame far stronger and sharper, a body carved by endless hours of training so she could wield the massive blade that even grown men would struggle to raise.

Since awakening her aura a few months ago, she had only driven herself harder, and Jacob felt a faint ache seeing the blood on her palms and the faint bruises running across her arms, reminders of sparring sessions where she had clearly refused to hold back. But he could not ask her to stop; he did not have the right. He had not ended his grieving even when she had begged him, so why should she end hers simply because he wished it.

"I'm going to a site with the heir of the Trace family," he said at last with a quiet sigh. "It has a rank ten limit, so it should be relatively tame, but I won't be here to bring you dinner, which means you'll have to fetch it yourself."

"Don't go," Jessica answered almost immediately, her voice firm. "Sites are dangerous."

"I've already accepted the deal," Jacob replied, his tone steady though his eyes softened slightly. "And I want to go."

"Then let me come with you," Jessica pleaded, meeting his gaze directly.

He already knew what she meant, what she feared, that she did not want him to take risks, did not want him to leave her behind only to vanish forever.

"No," Jacob said, shaking his head, "it's too dangerous." He held the plate out to her and then lowered himself to the floor, his eyes settling idly on the battered dummy she had been attacking.

"If you can go, then I can go too," she insisted, her voice quiet but stubborn, before she sat beside him and stared down at the plate.

Jacob glanced at it as well. The chef had been right, it was a meal unlike any he had seen before, though whether Jessica would notice the novelty was another question.

"I'm stronger than you," he pointed out.

"We're the same rank," she shot back without hesitation.

"I won't die, so stop worrying," Jacob muttered, his sigh almost lost in the words, and then he reached out, resting his hand gently on her head in a gesture that was half comfort and half dismissal. "Just focus on training, so that when I come back you might actually land a hit on me."

Jessica looked at him as if she wanted to argue further, or perhaps to say something else entirely, but instead she turned away, picked up her fork, and began eating. "If you die, I'll never forgive you," she mumbled between bites, her words softened by the fact that she spoke with her mouth full, and the image struck Jacob as both childish and oddly endearing.

He chuckled lightly at the sight. "Fine, I'll have to make sure I don't die," he said with a faint smile as he shifted a little closer to her.

For a while they sat together like that, speaking about trivial things, passing thoughts, familiar names, fragments of gossip, until Jessica finally finished her meal and stood, stretching slightly as she picked up her sword again.

"You said you're going next week, but I can guess you won't be coming here tomorrow," she remarked.

"I'm training with Sir Lazarus," Jacob confirmed, turning towards the door. "See you in a few weeks," he called as he stepped out.

"Stay safe," Jessica shouted after him, her voice carrying a faint tremor that she couldn't quite hide.

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