Beyond the Apocalypse

Agamenon waited for Vlad’s response but did not harbor high hopes. He knew that Runic Masters were often protective of their techniques, especially if they had achieved a high level of expertise. However, to his surprise, Vlad merely smiled and nodded in agreement.

"Sure," Vlad said. "We can settle everything once we reach the fortress." A trace of a grin spread across his face as he spoke. While the Inferno Comet Runic Set was indeed a remarkable creation, Vlad did not feel the need to guard it jealously.

He understood it was nearing the upper limit of its potential, and he was already planning to develop newer, more powerful runic sets. If he could earn both wealth and the favor of a Graecian noble in the process, so much the better.

Agamenon’s eyes lit up, and a hint of excitement—tinged with greed—sparked there. His gaze flickered across Vlad’s armor, taking in the way it channeled lightning and fire so seamlessly.

"By any chance," he asked, "are you also an Artificer?"

Vlad gave a short laugh and shook his head. "No, I’m afraid I’m not. Just learning runes and keeping up with my own cultivation has already pushed my limits. There’s simply not enough time to master another profession."

Zalasar, along with the surrounding soldiers, nodded as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. Professions were undoubtedly valuable, yet one’s personal power was paramount in a realm as dangerous as this. Only those who had reached their limits or failed to understand the importance of raw strength would neglect their cultivation entirely.

"The one who crafted my armor isn’t me," Vlad continued, pointing to the small yellow cat with white stripes perched on his shoulder. "He’s the genius behind it."

Agamenon turned to Jormugandr in genuine surprise. During the recent battle, he had witnessed the cat’s formidable combat prowess, yet he had never imagined that the creature also possessed advanced crafting abilities. Typically, magic beasts who excelled in battle did not devote themselves to intricate professions, especially not in such a specialized field.

Jormugandr noticed the fleeting prejudice in Agamenon’s expression and raised his feline head, his voice taking on a faintly imperious tone.

"Kid, be careful with your assumptions—especially when speaking to your elders."

Vlad nearly burst out laughing. Jormugandr was very young, no more than thirteen, but cat years wet faster than human years, so in a certain way, he was right to refer to himself as an elder. Of course, a debate could arise above that, but Vlad refrained from commenting and allowed his companion to continue.