Chapter 1016: Runes Under the Skin

Night had already settled over much of Asgard by the time Strax and Scathach finally returned to the mansion. The outing that had begun as a painfully obvious attempt to please her before asking for help had lasted much longer than he expected, and neither of them seemed particularly bothered by that. Scathach still carried the enormous, deformed white tiger plush under one arm, while the small silver hair clip remained slightly crooked in her hair. Strax knew perfectly well he could fix it in a few seconds, but decided to leave it exactly as it was. She clearly cared more about the fact that he had put it there than about how it actually looked.

They did not immediately go to their rooms. Instead, they ended up in one of the mansion’s smaller sitting rooms, where a few armchairs stood near an open window overlooking the gardens. Scathach dropped the tiger onto one chair, sat in another, and crossed her legs while Strax remained near the window, watching the city lights.

For a few minutes, they talked about ordinary things: the food at the market, the old blacksmith who had insulted the Gauntlet of Darkness without the slightest fear, and the possibility of Vex stealing the plush toy as soon as she returned to Asgard.

It was an easy conversation.

There was no need to fill every silence.

And Scathach seemed genuinely satisfied with that.

Even so, she knew there was something behind the outing.

Scathach waited quite a while before finally bringing it up. Maybe because she wanted to enjoy the day without immediately turning everything into a negotiation, or maybe because she was curious to see how long Strax would take before finding the courage to ask for what he actually wanted.

When she realized he was still staring out the window without getting to the point, she sighed and rested her face against one hand.

"So, what do you want me to do?"

Strax looked back.

"I already told you."

"You said you want to learn something tomorrow."

"Exactly."

"That isn’t what I asked."

He stayed quiet for a few seconds, and Scathach noticed the hesitation immediately.

It was not embarrassment, exactly.

It was Strax’s habit of trying to solve everything alone until he reached the point where he had no choice but to involve someone else.

He had no trouble giving orders, protecting people, or taking responsibility.

But asking for something for himself always seemed to require an unnecessary amount of thought.

Scathach sighed again, this time more tiredly.

"Strax."

"Hmm?"

"You don’t have to do this with me."

He frowned.

"Do what?"

"Plan how to ask me for something."

The answer made him slightly uncomfortable, mainly because she had hit the mark perfectly.

Scathach watched her son for a few seconds before continuing in a much calmer tone.

"I know our relationship isn’t normal."

Strax turned away from the window and finally gave her his full attention.

Scathach kept her expression calm.

"We’re mother and son, but we didn’t have twenty years together to build the kind of relationship other people naturally develop. I was dead during practically all the years of your life when a mother should have been there. I wasn’t the one who took care of you as a child, I wasn’t beside you through your problems, and I never had the chance to become someone you naturally learned to ask for help."

Strax stayed silent.

There was no accusation in her voice.

Maybe that was exactly why it was harder to answer.

Scathach continued, refusing to let the conversation become heavier than necessary.

"I’m not saying this so you’ll feel guilty. I also don’t want to spend my time trying to compensate for twenty years we can’t recover. That would be ridiculous. But one thing hasn’t changed."

She pointed at him.

"I’m still your mother."

Strax raised an eyebrow.

"Biologically, at least," she added with a small smile. "So stop hiding your own interests as if you were negotiating with a stranger. If you want something from me, ask."

"Even if it’s complicated?"

"Yes."

"Even if it’s annoying?"

"You’re already annoying. It won’t make much difference."

Strax laughed under his breath.

Scathach straightened in the chair.

"If you ask me for something possible, I’ll do it. If you ask for something difficult, I’ll figure out how. And if you ask for something impossible..."

She shrugged.

"...I’ll probably keep trying until it stops being impossible."

Strax watched his mother for a few seconds before finally moving away from the window.

He sat in the armchair across from her, rested his arms on his knees, and slowly exhaled.

"Sorry."

Scathach tilted her head.

"For what?"

"For overthinking."

"You don’t do that often. I don’t want to discourage it."

"Fuck you."

She started laughing.

Strax let a smile escape and then decided to simply say it.

"I want to learn more about draconic runes."

The amusement gradually disappeared from Scathach’s face.

Strax continued.

"Not the basics. I want to understand how they’re constructed, how they relate to authority, what happens when a rune truly becomes part of a Dragon, and how far that can be taken. I want to become stronger, but I’m reaching a point where simply accumulating more energy doesn’t seem like enough anymore."

Scathach listened to all of it.

When he finished, she let out a long breath.

"Then I have bad news."

Strax waited.

"Runes aren’t going to make you stronger."

He frowned.

"You literally said they record concepts into a Dragon’s existence."

"They do."

"That sounds like power."

"It is power. That doesn’t mean it’s a good combat tool."

Strax kept staring.

Scathach realized she would have to explain and raised one hand.

A small amount of mana appeared over the tip of her finger, condensing into a golden line.

"True draconic runes need precision. I’m not talking about drawing a circle approximately right and compensating for mistakes with mana. One wrong line changes the meaning. One angle out of place changes the flow. A mark placed before another can turn a defensive structure into something completely different."

She slowly drew a small symbol in the air.

It took several seconds.

Strax watched.

Scathach pointed at it.

"This is an extremely simple rune, and I still had to construct every part carefully. Now imagine doing that while someone is trying to cut your head off."

Strax slowly nodded.

"So they’re bad in combat."

"They’re worse than bad. You’ll probably die trying."

She dispersed the symbol and leaned back again.

"There are ancient Dragons who train for centuries just to form reduced runes while moving. Even then, they don’t do it in the middle of a serious duel unless they prepared part of the structure beforehand. I can use some quickly myself, but I still wouldn’t trust them against someone close to my level."

Strax remained thoughtful.

Scathach continued.

"If your plan is to learn runes so you can start drawing symbols in the air during battle, I can save you months right now. It isn’t worth it. Use fire. Use ice. Use that horrible thing on your arm. It’s faster."

Strax looked at the gauntlet.

"You think it’s horrible too?"

"As an improvised piece of smithing, yes."

"Everyone suddenly became an expert."

"Anyone with eyes."

He let the provocation pass and returned to the main point.

"Who said I want to use them in combat?"

Scathach went quiet.

Strax raised one hand and pointed at his own chest.

"I’m thinking about marking them into my body."

The silence that fell across the room was so complete Strax could hear someone closing a distant door in the corridor.

Scathach did not move.

Did not blink.

Her expression simply disappeared.

Strax waited.

Nothing.

"Mom?"

She kept staring.

"Scathach."

No answer.

Strax started suspecting he might have just suggested something far worse than he had imagined.

Finally, Scathach slowly inhaled through her nose.

"You want to..."

She stopped.

Started again.

"...engrave draconic runes directly into your own body."

"Yes."

"Permanent runes."

"Probably."

"Using your own existence as the inscription surface."

Strax thought for a moment.

"When you put it that way, that sounds exactly like what I want."

Scathach closed her eyes.

"Shit."

Strax raised an eyebrow.

"Is it possible?"

She opened her eyes again.

"That isn’t the problem."

"Then what is?"

Scathach stared at him for several seconds, and this time there was something completely different in her expression.

It was not ordinary concern.

It was the look of someone who had just realized an extremely dangerous idea might also be brilliant.

"We’ll talk tomorrow."

"You just told me not to hide what I want."

"And you immediately chose one of the most absurd ideas you could possibly bring me."

"So it’s possible."

Scathach did not answer.

The silence was enough.

...

At Asgard’s city hall, Monica was having a considerably less pleasant night.

The report in front of her was seventeen pages long.

She already hated every one of them.

Beatrice had sent the document shortly before the end of the workday, accompanied by an extremely unhelpful note stating that new surveys of the subterranean tree had produced "interesting results."

Over the last few years, Monica had learned that whenever a researcher used the word interesting in a report, someone in administration was going to lose sleep.

She turned another page.

The illustration showed Asgard from above.

Below the city, green lines represented roots.

There were many.

Far too many.

Monica checked the scale in the corner of the map and then looked back at the drawing because at first she thought some employee had made a mistake.

There was no mistake.

The roots crossed practically all of central Asgard.

Some began near the western farmland, where the first manifestation had appeared, but others passed beneath residential districts, railway lines, military facilities, and regions dozens of kilometers away.

The deeper surveys were still incomplete, but Beatrice estimated the plant structure continued far beyond the areas currently mapped.

Monica slowly rested her forehead against one hand.

"Of course."

She kept reading.

No root had attacked any workers.

None showed direct signs of corruption.

Areas near the active branches continued showing increased fertility, mana stabilization, and improved soil quality.

Everything looked positive.

And that made Monica even more suspicious.

She reached a section written personally by Beatrice:

THE DISTRIBUTION DOES NOT APPEAR RANDOM. SOME ROOTS FOLLOW POPULATION CONCENTRATIONS AND IMPORTANT STRUCTURES WITH STATISTICALLY ABNORMAL PROXIMITY. IT IS NOT YET POSSIBLE TO DETERMINE WHETHER THIS OCCURS BECAUSE THE TREE RESPONDS TO MANA PRODUCED BY THE CITY OR BECAUSE SOME FORM OF PERCEPTION EXISTS. I RECOMMEND NO CUTTING UNTIL WE UNDERSTAND THE ORGANISM.

Monica read it twice.

Then closed her eyes.

"So it might be watching the city."

The office door opened and an employee entered carrying a smaller stack of documents.

"Lady Monica, the commercial records for—"

"Later."

The woman stopped.

"Yes, ma’am."

She left immediately.

Monica returned to the report.

Another page showed the depth of the roots.

Some smaller branches were relatively close to the surface, but what Beatrice had provisionally classified as the "central structure" was kilometers below ground.

No team had managed to reach it.

The energy around it interfered with ordinary analysis methods.

Frieren had still not been called for fairly obvious reasons: allowing the elf to discover an unknown ancient tree would probably end with someone trying to collect samples before Monica had even authorized it.

She dropped the report onto the desk.

"A tree."

She ran a hand over her face.

"I’m being administratively threatened by a tree."

Monica stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, trying to think of anyone capable of evaluating the thing without turning the problem into an academic catastrophe.

Then she remembered the Congregation.

Hundreds of Witches.

Thousands of years of research.

Absurdly specific specializations.

Monica pulled a blank sheet of paper toward herself and stared at it for several seconds.

"There has to be one."

The assistant outside heard her and appeared in the doorway again.

"Ma’am?"

Monica raised the report.

"Find out if there’s a Witch who specializes in trees."

The woman blinked.

"Trees?"

"Ancient trees. Magical trees. Conscious trees. Forests. Arcane botany. Anything like that."

The assistant looked at the enormous document in Monica’s hands.

"Is this about that root?"

"Now it’s thousands of roots."

"Oh."

"Exactly."

Monica placed the report back on the desk and leaned into her chair, once again looking at the map of Asgard almost completely covered by the subterranean structure.

"We need help."

The assistant nodded and quickly left.

Monica continued staring at those green lines for several more seconds.

Then she murmured to herself:

"And I deeply hope the tree Witch is normal."

After everything she had learned about the Congregation so far, she was not particularly optimistic.