The Runesmith Chapter 502: Not The Best Ending?

Chapter 502: Not The Best Ending?

"The family estate shall always be open to you, should you ever find the need for respite. Perhaps, during your stay, you might entertain the notion of sparring with my sons?"

“Your sons?”

"Indeed. They are in need of further training, and a seasoned mage such as yourself could impart invaluable lessons upon them."

"I shall give it thought, Lord Marshal, but I’m not much of a combat teacher."

The conversation between Roland and his father continued for a few more minutes. The man seemed quite different than he remembered him. Back when he was between the ages of five and ten, Wentworth was quite distant and the family dinners with him around steadily decreased in time.

‘Is he the type that opens up to people only if they are of a certain rank or strength?’

His father was aware that he had helped Lucienne and that the three Baskerville knights had probably died due to his involvement. This was perhaps enough to earn him some level of respect in his father's eyes. Wentworth Arden seemed to be the kind of man who valued strength and loyalty above all else, and Roland’s recent actions had apparently earned him favor, albeit through a tangled web of misunderstandings.

However, as the conversation drifted through more pleasantries, Roland couldn’t shake the unease growing in the pit of his stomach. His father’s sudden warmth felt temporary and if he discovered the truth about Roland’s real ident.i.ty, things would quickly turn sour. Roland had already seen Robert hauled away by the knights, and if he wasn’t careful, he would be the next to feel his father’s wrath. So, he subtly tried steering the conversation in a different direction.

“Speaking of your sons, what are your intentions with the young Robert?”

The question shifted the tone of the conversation immediately. Wentworth’s posture straightened his previously calm demeanor going cold. He remained silent for a moment, eyes narrowing as if he were weighing the importance of Roland's inquiry.

"My intentions?"

Wentworth paused for a moment to gather his thoughts and soon after responded in a rather cold tone.

"Robert is my son, but he is also a n.o.ble of the Arden family. His actions, reckless as they are, reflect upon our name, and I will not allow him to tarnish it further. Once we return, he will have to reflect on his actions…”

Roland halted his response, realizing he had just touched on a deeply personal matter. The tension between Robert and Wentworth was clear, but he knew better than to press too hard. Instead, he took a more neutral approach.

"I understand your concerns, Lord Marshal. But Robert’s spirit is strong. He was somewhat naive but his heart was in the right place.”

Wentworth raised an eyebrow, and the shift in his demeanor was noticeable. Roland didn’t want his brother to be locked away at the Arden estate, but things seemed to be heading in that direction. The entire arrangement between the two n.o.bles appeared to be leading to Robert being held captive until Lucille eloped with another n.o.ble. It was even plausible they would pressure her into it, using Robert as a bargaining chip. If she refused to marry, he could be imprisoned for quite some time.

"You believe you know what’s best for my son, Professor Wayland?"

Roland wanted to press the issue but knew his words would fall on deaf ears. His father was a notoriously stubborn man, and though Roland had earned some of his recognition, it was best not to push his luck. Robert's situation was unfortunate, but trying to sway this immovable man would likely only make things worse for both of them.

“Of course not, Lord Marshal. I would never presume to know what’s best for your son. I merely wished to express my concern for him - his spirit is resilient, but he is still young. His intentions, while rash, stem from a place of affection. I’m sure that with some of your guidance, he will channel that energy in a way that honors your family name.”

Wentworth remained silent, his eyes narrowing as he weighed Roland’s words. For a moment, Roland thought his father would dismiss him entirely, but then the older man leaned back slightly, his expression softening.

“Your words speak with a certain understanding of the issue but these are matters of my house and will be handled by my house.”

Roland nodded and took this as a chance to end this conversation. While he wanted to prod about what his father was up to and what his intentions were, he was still nothing more than an outsider. Wentworth was aware that he interacted with both his children and probably knew some of their issues but it didn’t seem that he was willing to hear him list them out.

“I understand Lord Marshal, I won’t bring it up again.”

“...”

For a moment, it seemed like Wentworth wanted to say something but held himself back. It was as if he wanted to ask about something but decided that it was improper to do so.

"Let's put my son's affairs aside. There are more pressing matters at hand.”

Wentworth said, breaking the brief silence, and went into the next topic.

"My son, though gifted in his own right, could never hope to best a trained knight of such strength. Professor, how did you come to accomplish such a feat? And what is the true nature of this imposing armor?"

Roland steadied himself, this was one of the issues he was worried about, his Power Armor. While Wentworth was not there from the start he had seen the large armor his son crawled out from. He knew there was no way that Robert would be able to defeat a Knight Commander in a fair fight. The rules in the duel were strict but allowed the use of magical equipment on both sides.

“Lord Marshal, I know what you wish to ask of me but I can’t relinquish the secrets of the Inst.i.tute.”

“I see…”

One of Wentworth’s misunderstandings was that Roland was merely acting on orders from the Arch-Magus of the Inst.i.tute. Although his father held a high position, he wasn’t above her authority. His father seemed cautious whenever her name was mentioned, making it convenient for Roland to use her as a shield to deflect any troubling questions that might reveal his true ident.i.ty. Since his father didn’t seem eager to speak with her directly, it was only natural that he refrained from pressing the issue further.

“The Inst.i.tute’s secrets are closely guarded, I understand that. I only asked because it is rare to see such… effective magic used in the form of armor capable of dispatching a tier 3 knight. I’m sure even the royal family would be interested in such technology if it were to become widely available."

Wentworth’s voice carried a hint of curiosity, but Roland sensed the weight behind his words. His father was a soldier at heart, having fought in the border skirmishes in the north, and he could clearly see the potential of the power armor in securing future victories. However, Roland had no desire to entangle himself in his father’s affairs or become a supplier of these suits - at least not yet.

“I’m afraid that my invention is nothing more than an expensive toy. While it’s capable to some degree, the costs outweigh the benefits for widespread use. The materials alone are rare, and the Elokin’s fluid required to power it... well, the costs would be astronomical. It’s a prototype more than anything else, Lord Marshal, it wouldn’t last through a prolonged battle, it’s far from practical in most combat scenarios.”

Roland made sure to sprinkle some truths among his lies. While the current operational time was around ten to fifteen minutes, he knew this issue could be fixed. It was also possible to create a lesser version using inferior alloys, allowing the suits to perform at the level of a higher-tiered Tier 2 cla.s.s holder. There were many possibilities, but Roland couldn’t reveal any of them. He could envision the crown forcing him into a laboratory, churning out runic inventions until he died of old age if they discovered he had the capability to propel their military into a new age of runic machinery and weapons.

“An expensive toy, you say? How much?”

It seemed that his father was unconvinced and reluctant to back down, but upon hearing the price - which far exceeded the cost of equipping a knight commander - he was taken aback.

“That much?”

“Yes, while the costs to construct one prototype are staggering already, it burns through magic fuel quickly. Regretfully, it’s just not something that can be used out on a battlefield.”

Roland nodded, sensing that his father had finally given up on the issue. If he truly understood the full potential of the power armor, things would be different. Its strength didn’t lie in making combatants equal to Tier 3 elites but in enabling those without combat cla.s.ses to wield its power. Roland was confident that someone like Bernir could operate it and gain the abilities of a Tier 2 cla.s.s holder without having a combat cla.s.s. With enough time and effort, they could transform the noncombatants - who vastly outnumbered the cla.s.s holders into a large army.

“I understand, that is truly a disappointment. Professor, if you ever finish your work, please find me or one of my men.”

“Of course Lord Marshal, if I make a breakthrough, I’ll make sure that my work benefits the kingdom.”

Just as he finished his sentence, one of the knights approached Wentworth and whispered something in his ear. The Marshal nodded and quickly relayed the information; it seemed that Wentworth's visit was finally coming to an end.

"The contracts have been signed. As per my agreement with the Count, my men and I shall now take our leave. I have instructed my men to escort you and your students to the next city. I trust you will not mind if I reclaim my daughter from your care."

The entire place was now abuzz as people were allowed to leave the estate. While he wasn’t sure what would become of Robert and Lucienne, his involvement ended here. A bitter aftertaste lingered in his mouth, reminding him that he was nothing more than an outsider. What he needed to do now was return to the nearest teleportation gate, get back to the inst.i.tute, and then go home so his life could continue. Although everything seemed to have worked out in the end, he couldn’t shake off the lingering bitterness of how it all ended.

“Of course, Lord Marshal, I will leave her in your hands.”

Roland stood there as Wentworth made his way toward some of his soldiers. Lucienne, accompanied by her three friends, soon arrived, guarded by his men. Arion, who had slipped into the arena during the duel, was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Roland’s scanners indicated he had made it outside the estate. Even if Arion were captured, Wentworth would likely allow him to leave without signing a contract, just as he had done for Roland. It was clear Wentworth had no desire to provoke any issues with Yavenna and saw both Roland and anyone from the Inst.i.tute as allies.

His sister didn’t seem cheerful even though her brother was now free. She and the other girls probably saw this whole situation as unfair but were too afraid to voice their opinions in front of the overbearing Marshal. Her face was somber, eyes downcast, burdened by the weight of familial duty and the fate awaiting her brother. Roland couldn't help but feel pity for her. Lucienne, like Robert, was caught in the merciless grip of n.o.ble expectations, and there seemed to be no escape for either of them.

Wentworth, though calm and collected, was like a force of nature - unyielding, pragmatic, and driven by his own rigid sense of duty. During their conversation, he had shown a different side, but now his mask was firmly back in place. There had been a fleeting warmth during their discussions, but which was his true face? And what was his true goal? Was he acting to protect his family from harm, or was he simply trying to preserve his house’s honor? The answer remained elusive and he wasn’t sure if he would ever unearth it.

Lucienne, standing quietly with her friends, remained silent as Wentworth approached. Her downcast expression betrayed an inner turmoil that Roland could only guess at. He had always seen her as the bright, headstrong girl, but in front of her father, she seemed more like a subdued, obedient puppy. Thankfully, her mother wasn’t far off. After a brief conversation with Wentworth, Lucienne was allowed to separate from the group without much protest from Margaret.

“Professor, what will happen to Luci? Can’t we go with her?”

Margaret, Atasuna, and Marlein looked up at him with pleading eyes after they were allowed to pa.s.s. Roland was relieved that Margaret, usually the ringleader, hadn’t caused a large scene - or at least wasn’t causing one now. He’d heard her complaining while being led out of the arena, but even she seemed to understand there was little to be done when her friend’s parents were involved. It was better to let them leave peacefully.

“She’ll be fine, she is with her parents.”

“But, what will happen with her? Will she get punished?”

Asked Atasuna her wolven ears flattening in concern as her tail twitched nervously behind her. The other two girls nodded in agreement, their expressions mirroring her worry. Hadley the maid remained standing without any change to her expression as they all looked from afar as Lucienne and her parents went away while being escorted by many armored men.

“She will be fine, her parents won’t harm her, you should start worrying about yourself, now let us depart, we have to return to the Inst.i.tute.”

Roland sighed softly, still having to contend with this small group of children. The knights a.s.signed to escort them approached, ready to lead them away. The journey back would take some time, but afterward, he would finally be free of his duties as a babysitter. His sister, Lucienne, would likely be fine, but whether she would be allowed to attend the inst.i.tute again was another matter. The Viola incident, coupled with this debacle involving Robert, might just push Wentworth to consider homeschooling as a more controlled alternative.

‘I guess this is it… but what’s with this feeling?’

Roland watched as Lucienne, her shoulders slumped and her steps slow, was led away by her parents and the armored knights. The sight left him feeling conflicted. It wasn't his place to intervene further, and yet, he couldn't shake the sense that this was far from a happy ending. Neither his brother or sister could distance themselves from their overbearing father but at least they were now safe.

"Professor, what if we never see her again?"

Margaret's voice brought him back to the present. She stood with her arms crossed, her voice defiant as always.

"I’m sure you’ll see her again but she might take a small break from future cla.s.ses, now come, we must go.”

Roland a.s.sured, keeping his tone steady, though he wasn’t entirely sure himself. The girls exchanged worried glances, clearly unconvinced. However, they didn’t have much leeway to complain as their escorts urged them to move forward. Count Graham’s soldiers were also quite unwelcoming and started pushing everyone outside the gates, the pleasantries were now done and everyone was forced to leave.

Once outside the gates, Roland took a final glance at his display. His deactivated golems remained buried in several locations, hidden beneath the surface. Most of his flying devices had already returned to the temporary workshop where Bernir would retrieve them, but he chose to let a few remain in place. Though it posed a safety risk and could lead to trouble later, Roland had a lingering feeling they might prove useful in the future. It wasn’t the most cautious decision, but his instincts told him to leave them for now, just in case.

Eventually, the group arrived at the workshop, where they were greeted by the workers and Arion. Everyone was already busy packing up and preparing for their return. The dwarves skillfully dismantled the temporary setup, their thick hands quickly unhooking components and placing them into crates. The air buzzed with the familiar scent of metal and oil, a reminder of the countless hours Roland had spent tinkering with the power armor here.

It was finally time to leave and put this journey behind him, but he hesitated. Strange thoughts crept into his mind as he contemplated a crazy idea, one that had some merits but would put him and the people around him in danger.