Chapter 11: The Search

All the previous reverence for his teacher had been nothing but a façade; he was not the foolish, ignorant wastrel others took him for. Every expression and tone from the other man revealed more than intended, never fully escaping his notice.

But above all, Charles’s eyes were filled with cold hostility. “Teaching me properly is one thing—but why conceal so much from me?”

Though it was merely a relaxing little game, he had studied every step thoroughly from beginning to end to better spend money and evolve his totems. Apart from being unable to perform the ritual himself, he had mastered every process of totem crafting. The other’s mention of scanning, analysis, and rune construction was not incorrect, yet it omitted the most crucial element: the Rune Factory.

The essence of constructing runes meant only the creation of the most basic cells. Yet, totems were modeled after real creatures—each with countless billions of cells. These cells differentiate and cluster into tissues, which then combine in specific sequences to form organs like the heart, lungs, and kidneys. Organs interconnect to make up entire systems—digestive, respiratory, and the like—before finally assembling into a complete being.

To attempt creating trillions of cells, let alone their intricate combinations, through rune construction alone would be a life’s work, yet never yield a single totem. This was why an essential tool existed—the Rune Factory. Like a cluster of manufacturing plants, it allowed for mass production of cells, and their further assembly into tissues and organs.

The Rune Factory was the indispensable instrument of any true Spiritcrafter, saving 99.99...% of the time and effort in totem creation. Once the totem was complete, it could even self-repair minor injuries, and serve as a mold for the direct replication of a second totem.

Yet, this most vital knowledge had been kept wholly from him—the other had no intention of imparting the real secrets of the craft.

Charles sighed, realizing he could never hope to learn the true ways of the Spiritcrafter from such a source. “Or perhaps, one might surmise that his own Rune Factory was long since broken, his totems grievously damaged beyond repair, and he had retreated to Goldenshine to hide from dangerous enemies.”

After imparting only the basics of cartography and rune construction, the man had revealed his true purpose at last: the raw Source Crystals hidden within the family’s gold mine.

For a Spiritcrafter, Source Crystals were as vital in the early stages as gasoline was to a car in his previous life. Without them, a Spiritcrafter was powerless to perform even the simplest spirit arts, let alone craft a totem. Small wonder, then, that stripped of these resources, he dared not challenge the family further.

Otherwise, in his prime, he could have forced the family to serve him with ease.

“And this is my only chance.” Charles’s gaze turned icy, thoughts flickering rapidly—but all his plans depended on acquiring his first totem.

“Well then, let me choose a totem both remarkable and endearing, one that will bring my teacher a little surprise!”

...

Within the manor grounds.

Charles stepped down from the carriage, curiosity in his voice as he asked, “Hans, do you know if there are any unusual creatures in the Moonlight Forest?”

Hans bowed respectfully. “Young master, the most common game in the Moonlight Forest are deer, wild boar, and wolves. What sort of prey are you looking for?”

Charles pondered. “I need something truly extraordinary—creatures with potent venom or other unique abilities, such as those capable of producing deafening roars or moving with incredible speed.”

“Such rare beasts are not easy to find. The loudest is perhaps the forest bear, whose roar is truly astonishing,” Hans replied after a moment’s thought, unable to recall any better candidates. Suddenly, his eyes lit up and he said, “Young master, there’s a legendary creature that might be just what you seek.”

“Speak,” Charles prompted, his interest piqued.

“According to some hunters, the Moonlight Forest is home to a wondrous being that appears only at night to bask in the moon’s glow.”

“A werewolf?” Charles’s expression grew odd; the description sounded like something straight out of the legends from his previous world.

“A werewolf? What might that be—a kind of wolf?” Hans was clearly puzzled.

Charles realized his mistake; there were no werewolf legends in this world. He waved his hand dismissively. “Think of it as a kind of wolf. Go on.”

“They say this creature has silvery fur and resembles a child in form, yet wields terrifying strength. Under the moonlight, it grows to monstrous proportions, moving as swiftly as the wind—no one has ever been able to catch it!”

Hearing this, Charles’s eyes sparkled. This was the perfect creature for his needs.

Insect totems were simple in structure and easy to make, but lacked true offensive power; at best, something like a violet-winged butterfly could release poisonous dust, but such abilities were hardly a threat to a Spiritcrafter.

Given his teacher’s temperament, he would likely grant only a single totem, ensuring a steady flow of Source Crystals, gems, and other evolutionary materials in return. After all, if you want a horse to run, you must feed it well—a carrot-and-stick approach known to all.

This meant he had to select a totem powerful enough to forcibly raise his standing and ensure his safety.

Without hesitation, Charles took out his purse, extracting ten small, gleaming gold coins and smiling, “Find me the hunters most knowledgeable about this legend as fast as possible, and gather the most experienced among them. I must capture this creature!”

Hans swallowed, eyes fixed on the coins, and all present pounded their chests in earnest. “Young master, we will see it done!”

The cost of living in Goldenshine was low—a single gold coin could feed a family of three for a month, while their own monthly wage was but three coins. For the young master to offer so many coins up front meant the true reward would be even greater if the hunt succeeded.

Hans hurried off to contact his acquaintances in the village. As a local, he would naturally seek out his own people for such a lucrative opportunity.

Charles cared little for such details; so long as the job was done, he did not care how. And if anyone dared deceive him, they would not escape unscathed.

After dinner, Charles slipped away from the manor under a pretext. Marcus, far from stopping him, dispatched three seasoned guards to follow and protect him, further evidence of his indulgence.

By the time Charles and Hans rode to the northwestern edge of the forest, two burly hunters awaited them—one with a massive black hound on a leash, the other with a hunting hawk perched on his shoulder. Charles regarded them coolly. “Let’s begin. Once we capture the beast, your reward will be generous.”

The hunters beamed. The young master had a reputation in Goldenshine for spending freely—a notorious wastrel, though, luckily, one with no record of serious misdeeds.

The rising moon bathed the forest in a thin mist. The woodland was pristine and ancient, sprawling over vast hills—though the soil was poor and the trees were mostly low, temperate varieties, not towering giants.

Charles was dressed in hunting gear, a longsword at his waist, a bow slung across his back, and a full quiver of thirty arrows. With the modulator’s aid, he had learned archery in no time, allocating points until he’d mastered it—all for the cost of a single evolution point.

He walked silently at the rear, the hound leading the way, nose to the ground, tracking prey.

Suddenly, a brown blur flashed across their path. Charles swiftly drew an arrow, pulled back the bow with all his strength, and let fly.

With a hiss, the arrow shot through the air, piercing the animal’s neck and pinning the deer to a tree trunk.