While Adrian was within the chamber of the Sentinel, the outside world trembled.
Reports of what he had done at the sea wall spread like wildfire, flooding every division, every command post, every comms line. At first, they were only words, cold, clinical reports that few dared to believe.
Words were just words.
But when the reinforcements returned from the Sea Wall, they did not come back empty-handed. They brought scrolls. They brought recordings.
For the first time, the world saw the truth.
Commander Hayes stood in the Central Command briefing room, his weathered hands trembling as he held one of Adrian's scrolls. Around him, twenty veteran officers watched in stunned silence.
"Show them," General Morrison ordered, his voice barely above a whisper.
Hayes activated the healing rune with nothing but his raw mana. Golden light erupted from the parchment, washing over a wounded D-rank who had lost his arm three days prior.
Flesh sprouted. Bone regrew. Within moments, the man flexed fingers that shouldn't have existed.
"Impossible," someone breathed.
The room erupted. Officers shouted over each other, demanding explanations that none could give.
In the Rune District, Inscribers crowded around tables covered with Adrian's scrolls, their voices rising to near-screaming levels.
"Look at the ink composition!" one slammed his fist on the workbench. "It's not bound to any single affinity. It's... it's universal."
A young inscriber with fire affinity picked up a gravity scroll. Her hands shook as she was able to use them.
The forums flooded faster than servers could handle. Messages appeared and vanished in seconds as millions tried to process what they'd witnessed.
DefenderHope42: This changes everything. My son's only got plant affinity. Thought he'd be stuck with support roles forever.
VeteranSteel: Watched the recording twelve times. That kid erased half an A-rank with one spell. HALF AN A-RANK.
Forgemaster_Kaine: Anyone else realize what this means for inscription? If we can all use his ink...
In a small outpost, Captain Chen gathered her squad around a tablet showing the Sea Wall footage. Hardened soldiers who'd faced death for years stared at the screen with tears in their eyes.
"You see that barrier held?" Chen pointed at the recording. "D-rank Against a B-rank wave."
Sergeant Torres, missing his left leg from a monster encounter, leaned forward. "The healing scrolls. Do you think..."
"First batch goes to the wounded," Chen said quietly.
Torres buried his face in his hands.
In the Academy's common room, hundreds of cadets pressed against every available screen. The footage played on loop, Adrian's Starbreaker tearing through the kraken, his Breath of Life restoring an entire fortress.
"He was just with us a month ago," Kai whispered, his spatial abilities suddenly feeling insignificant.
Seraphina's celestial light flickered uncertainly. "How do you fight beside someone like that?"
Marcus stared at his own hands, remembering how proud he'd been of his metal shards. "You don't fight beside him. You try not to get in his way."
In hospital wards across the globe, wounded Defenders watched the recordings with desperate hope. Veterans who'd accepted permanent disabilities saw limbs regrown, scars erased, lives restored.
"Nurse," called out Commander Blake, paralyzed from the waist down for three years. "When do those healing scrolls arrive?"
"The rune division is handling it, sir. First priority goes to critical cases."
Blake closed his eyes. For the first time since his injury, he dared to dream of walking again.
The shock was absolute. The promise undeniable.
Some Defenders wept openly. Others shouted in disbelief, demanding proof, only to be buried under testimony from those who had fought at the sea wall.
Veterans wrote that for the first time in decades, they felt hope.
The inscriber circles boiled over with feverish debate. For centuries, affinities had chained their craft, not just the use of runes themselves. To etch a gravity rune, one needed gravity affinity.
Hard limits that bound even the most gifted.
And now, ink that made those chains irrelevant.
Entire generations who once thought themselves trapped by their birth affinities now stared at a future they had never imagined. The forums exploded with testimonies, theories, and desperate questions.
"Do you understand?" one forum post blazed. "If you master the strokes, you can inscribe anything. Anything. Even legendary runes."
It was more than hope.
...
At the same time, in the Grand Rune Hall, Selena Valcrest and Dorian entered together, Mira and Liora close behind.
Waiting within were six figures, solemn and silent. They stood in a loose circle around the central table, their ink-stained robes marking them as masters of their craft.
Humanity had only eight Rune Masters without Adrian. Now, for the first time in years, all eight stood together. It was a sight seen perhaps once in decades.
Master Corwin stepped forward, his weathered face creased with concern. "Selena. The reports from the Sea Wall..."
"Are true," Selena finished. "Every word."
Selena took them upward, to the tower's highest conference chamber.
There was no need for pleasantries. They had all read the reports. They had seen the forums explode.
What they needed was proof.
She set the vial of white-grey ink on the table. Even sealed, it pulsed faintly, as though alive.
Every Rune Master leaned in, their gazes sharp with hunger and disbelief. The ink seemed to shift within its container, responding to their proximity.
"This is what he created?" Master Thalos asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"See for yourself," Selena replied.
Selena dipped her quill, the strokes slow and deliberate. The others watched every movement, their breathing shallow.
Lines interlocked, curves threaded together, a lattice of power unfolding stroke by stroke. The rune took shape with impossible precision, each mark flowing seamlessly into the next.
And when the rune flared to life, even their seasoned eyes widened. Golden light erupted from the parchment, but this was different from any healing rune they knew.
It was no simple healing rune. Its very framework pulsed with vitality, with the weight of something far older.
This wasn't what humanity inscribed all these years. This was a Rune of Life itself.
"Impossible..." murmured Master Corwin, one of the elder Rune Masters, his hands trembling. He reached toward the rune, then pulled back as if burned.
Master Anya stepped closer, her eyes wide. "The structure... it's completely different from our healing runes."
"Selena," said Master Thalos, his voice hoarse, "this isn't from Volume II. This is—"
"—legendary," finished Anya, the female Rune Master present, awe in her tone.
Master Valdris, who had remained silent, finally spoke. "The ink is one thing. But the pattern itself..."
"How?" Corwin demanded. "The ink, yes... but these patterns, this is similar to Adrian's rune. Have you also comprehended Volume III?"
Selena's lips curved, though her eyes were sharp. "Not yet. But what I have is... different."
She explained how Adrian had given her his knowledge directly. How it felt like a dictionary planted inside her mind, every symbol cross-referenced.
Every meaning just waiting for her to adapt. She had not comprehended it fully yet, but she would soon.
The chamber went silent.
Even for rune masters, the idea was mind-breaking. To think knowledge could be given like this, to think comprehension could be shared.
It was beyond any method they had ever imagined.
"You're saying," Master Valdris said slowly, "that he simply... transferred his understanding?"
"More than that," Selena replied. "He gave me the foundation to build upon. To grow beyond even what he shared."
To them, it was as shocking as the ink. Master Corwin sank into a chair, his face pale.
And then the realization sank in, if she could learn it, then she could teach it. If she could teach it, then all humanity could one day wield it.
Master Thalos gripped the table's edge. "Do you understand what this means?"
"A new age," Anya whispered.
For the first time in decades, the eight rune masters of humanity felt the horizon stretch wider. The limitations that had bound their craft for centuries suddenly seemed... negotiable.
A revolution had begun.
...
And beyond the Rune Hall, the shockwaves kept spreading.
Healers whispered of the miracle smoke that had mended even shattered bodies. Warriors shouted of the boy who had slain an A-rank beast with a spell that bent reality.
Everywhere, voices trembled with the same truth, Adrian Blackwood had broken limits.
Division by division, barrack by barrack, everyone stopped what they were doing, word spreading faster than orders ever could. Training sessions halted mid-exercise. Meetings dissolved as participants rushed to windows.
"Is it true?" a young healer asked, clutching a standard healing scroll. "Can anyone really use his runes?"
Her mentor nodded slowly, still processing the implications. "The reports are confirmed. Universal activation."
In the Tactical Division, Commander Ross slammed his palm against the wall display showing casualty projections. The numbers that had haunted him for years suddenly seemed... changeable.
"Gather the wounded," he barked to his aide. "All of them."
The aide's eyes widened. "Sir, the healing scrolls haven't arrived yet—"
"They will."
And then, without command, without coordination, they began to march.
First came the healers, their white robes flowing as they abandoned their stations. Then the tactical officers, still clutching their reports and projections.
The warriors and inscribers followed, drawn by something deeper than duty. Support staff emerged from maintenance tunnels, their faces bright with wonder.
Soon, the HQ plaza was no longer empty. Defenders marched in from every wing, every division, drawn by the same unspoken call.
They filled the plaza before the Central Tower, shoulder to shoulder, banners snapping in the wind. Not ordered. Not commanded. Drawn.
Commander Reeves, with a prosthetic arm, pushed through the crowd, his eyes fierce with hope.
"Look at them all," someone whispered.
The crowd stretched beyond the plaza's edges, spilling into adjacent courtyards. Faces turned upward toward the tower's highest floors, waiting.
Tens of thousands stood in silence, their eyes fixed on the tower.
They wanted to see him. The boy whose ink bent the rules of their world. The one who had given them new strength, new survival, new hope.
By the time Adrian came out of the chamber, the sea of humanity already waited for him.