"WAIT!"
The shout rang across the first floor of the tower.
An apprentice, her frame almost swallowed by a magic robe far too large for her, hurried toward Zatiel. Every inch of her body was concealed—heavy wrappings of yellowed bandages covering even her hands and neck. Her gender was discernible only from the tone of her voice, breathless and urgent.
Normally, Zatiel would have ignored such an approach. He had little patience for interruptions, especially from strangers. But something about her appearance caught his interest—not beauty, but the smell. Even from several paces away, a foul, sour odor hung around her like a miasma. Here and there, faint stains seeped through the fabric, and beneath the bandages, Zatiel caught glimpses of mottled, unnatural skin.
An accident during an experiment… or perhaps a failed transformation, he thought. Such grotesque alterations were not uncommon in the world of Magi—unfortunate apprentices who dabbled too deeply in dangerous elements, left twisted and malformed. To the Magi, they were little more than walking experiments, their suffering of no consequence.
"How can I assist you?" Zatiel asked at last, his tone calm but unreadable.
"Are you… could you be a runemaster?" Her voice trembled, yet in her eyes—those were not hidden—there was a fierce, almost desperate hope.
Zatiel hesitated for a moment, then gave a single nod.
A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd of apprentices nearby. Old Hal, sitting at his desk, straightened slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Even if Zatiel was only a Rank 0 runemaster, that title was enough to make him valuable in the right circles.
"Excellent! I need you to craft this for me!" The bandaged apprentice's restraint cracked, and she thrust a parchment into his hands with shaking fingers.
Zatiel glanced at her, his eyes hardening. "Is that an order?" The temperature in his voice dropped, the warning plain.
She flinched. "I—I apologize. It's just… I've been waiting for this chance for so long." Her shoulders hunched in a submissive bow, her voice almost pleading.
Zatiel unrolled the parchment and scanned its contents. His brows rose slightly. "You're overestimating the abilities of a Rank 0 runemaster."
It was a high-grade Rank 1 rune—Transfiguration. Complex, costly, and demanding in both energy and precision. For most runemasters at his supposed level, it would be impossible. For him, it was possible… but it would take time and effort.
"Is it truly unattainable?" Her voice cracked on the word. That note of desperation told him everything—this was her last hope.
He studied her for a moment longer, then shrugged. "Enough with the pitiful look. I can craft it—if you have something of equal value to offer in return."
"Absolutely! I promise you, it will be worth it." Though her face was hidden, the relief in her tone made it easy to imagine the faint smile behind the bandages.
"This isn't the place for negotiations," Zatiel said, glancing at the crowd whose interest was clearly growing. He turned and gestured for her to follow.
The three of them—Zatiel, Ezequiel, and the bandaged apprentice—moved to the second floor. Once there, Zatiel turned to his student.
"Little EZ, work on your own projects. I'm giving you the matrix for a weapon—practice with it."
Ezequiel skimmed the data and blinked in surprise. Even Rank 1 lifeforms could use this design. "I'll start right away."
He left at once, eager to test the new knowledge.
"That child," Zatiel murmured with a faint smile, before turning back to the apprentice. She had noticed that warmth in his eyes when speaking to Ezequiel, but wisely chose not to comment.
"Follow me," Zatiel said, leading her to his quarters.
His laboratory lay in complete disarray. Skins from magical beasts hung from hooks. Strange materials and tools were piled haphazardly on tables. Dust clung to every surface, and in one corner, a mound of equipment lay abandoned on the floor.
"You've been robbed!" she blurted, the words escaping before she could think.
Zatiel's expression twitched. "Robbed? This is just how I live."
In truth, it was an old habit from his demonic days—organized chaos in the small things, perfect precision when it mattered. But her assumption made a faint heat touch his cheeks.
"By the way," he added, "you still haven't told me your name."
"Oh—Sophia," she replied quickly, deciding not to revisit the topic of his mess.
"Alright, Sophia. Let's discuss business. The rune you want is difficult—time-consuming. The price will be high."
Sophia's demeanor shifted, her tone sobering. "I know the location of an ancient Magus's laboratory. A strong one." She watched his face carefully, searching for a reaction, but found none.
"I can't take your word for it."
Without speaking, she reached into her robe and withdrew a small sealed tube. Inside it, suspended in a viscous liquid, was a single drop of blood. Before she could react, the tube vanished from her palm and appeared in Zatiel's hand.
She froze, watching him examine it.
If he decides to kill me now…
But Zatiel was too focused on the contents to care about her fear. He activated his chip.
[Bip… Analyzing blood. Most accurate match: Lightning Giant.]
A slow grin spread across his face. "Hahaha… excellent." This was exactly what he needed for his advancement to Rank 1.
When he finally looked up, he noticed the unease in her posture. "My apologies for the reaction," he said, returning the tube. "Keep that hidden—any Magus would kill you for it."
Sophia quickly tucked it away. "Thank you."
"We'll settle on this—your laboratory location and the blood in exchange for the rune. But there's one more condition." His eyes glinted faintly.
Sophia's breath hitched. Her disfigurement was already the result of experiments—what more would he demand? "What… must I do?"
"Simple," Zatiel said, smiling. "You're going to clean this place."