Chapter 66: Memories
Raven's vision steadied as the Throne Room formed around him. The vast hall was silent—only the faint green glow from the chandelier cast shifting shadows across the black stone. Solis hovered beside him in its crystalline amulet form, small and still.
He opened his mouth to ask the Owl more questions, but a sharp pulse rippled through his mind—new knowledge blossoming like ink in clear water.
Twelve Fragments...
Names flowed through him:
Seer.
Ignis.
Light.
Ice.
Darkness.
Wind.
Death.
Dream.
Hunter.
Lightning.
Wisdom.
Travel.
Each fragment held roughly four abilities—a mixture of support, offense, foresight, and special effects. Some reached Rank-8 in potency. Most didn't. It finally made sense why Solis's abilities varied so wildly.
"Tell me more about the Ruler's Throne," Raven asked softly.
Solis flickered—the amulet pulsing faintly. "I know very little. Only that it stands above us. All fragments are tied to it… and obey it."
Not particularly helpful.
But something else had changed—something subtle but powerful. Raven could feel it.
My authority… increased?
He stretched his senses through the Throne Hall and felt connections—threads of energy—running from the throne to the twelve chairs.
Twenty percent control.
A simple thought pushed power into the chair engraved with the owl emblem. His left eye tingled.
A heartbeat later, Raven wasn't looking through his own eyes.
He was looking through Solis's.
I can see through other fragments?
He shifted his focus to the lightning serpent's chair—
The world warped.
A forest materialized—dusk-like and chokingly dark. Noah sprinted through the underbrush, breath ragged, clutching a worn leather bag close to his chest. The trees were blackish blue, leaves like dead feathers. The sky was an eternal twilight, neither night nor day.
Raven's lips tightened.
Not the same time zone. Two to three hours ahead… east of Ivory Island. And the continent sits closer than we assumed.
Noah kept running—through the twisted woods, past warped tree trunks veined with glowing blue roots. After twenty minutes, a jagged iron wall loomed ahead—spikes, rust, and a small hole barely large enough for a child.
The boy slipped inside.
An entire slum sprawled behind the wall—narrow alleys, wooden shacks patched with metal scrap, decayed houses leaning on each other like corpses. People moved within the shadows… if they could be called people.
Deformed faces. Warped limbs. Purple tumors. Extra eyes. Misshapen heads.
Compared to them, Noah appeared almost normal.
He pushed through a crowd of silent onlookers and reached a crooked hut. The door creaked open. He whispered something to the woman inside.
An elderly figure sat on a cot—skin mottled with tumors, hands twisted, only three fingers on each hand. She spoke softly, reaching for him.
Noah lit the stove with a strange metal, then laid out ingredients: bones, odd mushrooms, leather pouches, and a three-headed rat.
The old woman drank from one pouch—black water gurgling down her throat.
Black water? They drink that?
Raven's stomach tightened.
He stayed long enough to watch Noah prepare the meal—a grotesque mixture of flesh and fungus unfit for even scavengers.
Then Raven severed the link and exhaled.
That place… is beyond anything I've seen.
His awareness drifted toward Elizabeth's chair next. She was mid-travel. Nothing urgent.
Identity protection. That must be addressed.
He closed his eyes, left the Throne Room—then returned a heartbeat later.
But this time, he wasn't Raven.
A crimson mask gripped his face, sharp-edged and unreadable. His presence felt colder, deeper—like a being who belonged to the shadows of this throne.
"So this appearance carries over," he murmured. "Convenient."
He raised one hand. Light rippled across the hall.
Two figures appeared—Elizabeth and Noah.
"Greetings, Shadow. Whisperer." Raven's voice carried through the mask, regal yet faintly distorted.
Elizabeth blinked. "Raven?" Her eyes traveled to the mask. "So this is how we'll conduct meetings? Then I should call you 'Prince' here."
Raven chuckled. "I'm not sure this place should be the Golden Wheel's meeting room yet. Everything except physical exchange is possible."
"Who said you can't carry physical things?" Whis piped up proudly. "With strong spirit power, you can bring material into your consciousness."
"Oh?" Raven raised a brow. "How strong?"
"Strong enough to lift objects using spirit power in the real world," Whis replied. "Rank-3 or Rank-4 for most. Depends on talent."
Still a long way.
Raven turned to Noah—more specifically, the serpent curled around his neck.
"Levinthar. Speak of Ancaria. Who rules the region? Their strength?"
The snake hissed lightly. "Ancaria is one of the three strongholds of the Nyaxra Domain. Dangers surround it—nightmare creatures, roving horrors. The city is ruled by immortals."
"Immortals as in… they don't age?" Raven asked.
"They age slowly. Much slower than humans. Their leader is called a Warlord."
Elizabeth leaned forward. "How strong are they?"
"Most can defeat low-rank, mid-rank, and high-rank nightmare creatures. Only a few—and the Warlord—can battle the Lord Rank ones."
Raven frowned. "Flying abilities? Spiritual movement?"
"I've never seen anyone fly. But I've seen them call weapons across distances with invisible force."
Elizabeth's eyes sharpened. "Rank-4 then. Only Pseudo-Legendary powerhouses can fly freely."
Raven asked, "Magic? Techniques?"
"Magic like mine exists. But only the Upper Land is allowed to learn spells. When I woke a thousand years ago, I taught Noah's ancestors lightning spells."
Levinthar lowered his head.
"That led to the destruction of their family. Only two children survived. They fled to the Lower Land."
Elizabeth gasped softly. "Harsh…"
"Indeed." Raven nodded. "For now, teach Noah our language. At age fifteen, we'll decide how to guide him."
Elizabeth added, "What about weapon skills? Sword aura? Stealth arts?"
"I've seen such skills. They are common among gang leaders. Teaching him those won't endanger him."
Raven nodded. "Good. We proceed slowly."
He turned to Elizabeth. "Buy a mask. Wear it next time you enter."
She laughed lightly. "That works? Alright."
"And I'll notify you both a few minutes before the meeting—so you're not summoned while bathing."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Noah looked confused. Whis snickered.
Raven leaned back on the throne.
"That's all for today."
A deep pull of force swept through the hall. Elizabeth, Noah, and their fragments dissolved into light—drawn out of the Throne Room in an instant.
Silence fell again, leaving Raven alone on the Iron Throne.
He exhaled and let the throne fade. The hall collapsed into darkness, and the next blink returned him to the real world.
He opened his eyes in his bedroom.
Raven pushed himself upright and called out, loud enough to rattle the floorboards,
"Emanuel."
The mansion stirred. Footsteps slapped quickly against the wooden corridor. A knock followed.
"My Lord, did you call for me?" Emanuel's voice trembled slightly.
"Come in."
Emanuel creaked open the door and stepped inside deferentially.
"Sit," Raven ordered.
Emanuel froze. "My… Lord?"
"Don't make me repeat myself."
The man stiffened, swallowed, and lowered himself into the wooden chair near the bed.
Raven leaned back, studying him. "Imagine a famine hits. Not a brief one—a famine lasting twenty to thirty years. What ingredients can be stored in massive quantities for decades?"
Emanuel visibly reeled at the question, but dutifully answered.
"White rice lasts thirty years in airtight containers with oxygen absorbers. Wheat, corn kernels, dried oats too—twenty-five years at least." He wet his lips, thinking. "Dried legumes, beans… dried fish and meat can last decades as well."
Raven nodded slowly. "Good. Then tell me this—can we store food for one billion people? Enough to last fifteen years. What would it cost?"
The blood drained from Emanuel's face.
"M-My Lord… a billion?"
"Just answer."
He took a shaky breath. "It's impossible. Even feeding one million people for a single day requires nearly a thousand tons of grains. And water would collapse first—Giaris needs at least three million liters a day. To feed a billion people for fifteen years… that would require around 5.5 billion tons of food. Grain alone… 3.3 billion tons. Even if we got it, where would we store it? Over a hundred thousand hectares of space wouldn't be enough."
Raven rubbed his jaw. "So… no way?"
Emanuel shook his head helplessly.
Raven leaned back, mind churning.
[Why assume you must solve the famine? Maybe find its cause instead.] Zera's voice murmured.
Isn't famine a natural disaster?
[No. The news said mountain snows melted unnaturally. Rivers dried without volcanic eruptions, without industrial expansion. This famine is triggered. It could be war… or someone cast a Rank-7 or higher spell that drained Ice elemental energy from the air.]
Raven's eyes narrowed.
So the root is political… or magical.
Stopping the war would prevent famine… but that's leagues beyond me.
He sighed inwardly.
Forget saving the world. I should focus on surviving it.
"Enough. Emanuel—buy war horses. Jacob and the others must teach horsemanship to all children."
Emanuel stood quickly. "Yes, My Lord."
"And one more thing—go to the Red Apple Inn on Albert Street. Tell Franco to gather everything on the Agith Ruins in Thornevale Territory."
"It will be done."
"Good. You may go."
Emanuel bowed and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Raven stared blankly at the wall.
Time to begin Runeth's memories…
"How long will it take?" he murmured.
Zera responded immediately.
[Do you plan to review all memories on the first and second floors… or only the runology ones?]
"All."
He clenched his fists.
After seeing Jovie… I need every advantage. Even if I can't reach a true reincarnator's power, absorbing Runeth will change everything.
[Do you know how long my owner lived?]
"A thousand years?" Raven guessed.
Zera chuckled dryly.
[Thirty thousand. He was over thirty thousand years old when he met Charles. Even after rebirth erased most of his memories, thousands of years remained. What you're absorbing—on the first and second floors—is only the first three hundred. To fully digest them will take months… possibly a year.]
Raven didn't hesitate. "I'll do it."
[Very well. Then your schedule is simple—nighttime meditation for spirit power. Daytime memory absorption.]
"What about rest?"
[Four hours a day. Once your spirit power passes 100, reduce it to three.]
"W-What?" Raven sputtered.
[Didn't you declare you'd do anything to get strong? Then sacrifice your sleep.]
Raven glared at the empty air. "Fine."
He informed the household of his closed-door training. Then he sealed himself in his room.
And the long grind began.
…
Days bled into weeks.
Raven's mind dove through the life of Runeth Axius Rit'zyk—a prince of Easica Plane. A world of gods and goddesses, elves and dwarves, tricksters and elementals.
He walked through memory after memory: Runeth's teenage years, academy life, missions, the Magic Tower where he earned the rank of Mage.
Runeth had been talented only in intellect and memorization—yet that alone made him terrifying.
Raven absorbed everything:
Elven tribes.
Dwarven forging secrets.
Fairy rituals.
Dark Elf politics.
Runology foundations.
Common Mage spells.
Low-tier artifact crafting.
Runeth's cold pragmatism left a strong impression—he'd cared little for family, obsessed only with knowledge and survival.
Raven meditated every night in the Astral Realm, pushing his spirit power upward bit by bit.
—
By the end of Year 1423, he had finished absorbing the first three hundred years of memories.
Alchemy progress? Almost none—Runeth barely touched it.
Artifact creation? Far better—Raven understood how to craft Common and Uncommon artifacts now, though mastery remained distant.
To reach Peak Adept Rune Mage… I need at least a year.
But I don't have that kind of time.
He set runology aside.
The next years would be devoted only to alchemy and meditation.
Outside Raven's seclusion, conflict brewed.
Clashes erupted along the borders between the Zenith Empire and the Viser Kingdom.
To the south, the Meadows family and the southern army fought constant invasions from giants, cyclopes, orcs, and goblins—ten thousand dead in two years.
Citizens still shopped, laughed, drank tea, and walked streets in peace…
…but nobles and wizards felt the tremors of a looming storm.
A storm Raven knew was coming—one he had no choice but to prepare for.