The phantom warmth of the new runes hummed under Saquin's skin, a persistent itch of power. The frozen tableau of Viva and the silent winter of the mini-world faded into the background. Right now, only the three fresh brands on his body mattered.

"Alright, teacher," Saquin thought, stretching his arms and feeling the subtle pull of the {Speed} rune over his heart. "Time for the manual. How do these work?"

[ There is no manual, ] the World Will replied, her tone infuriatingly flat. [ You possess a Unique-Supreme Ability. The 'Unique' designation is not a flourish. It means the mechanisms, expressions, and intricacies of your Runes are yours alone. I can observe their effects, but I cannot decode their blueprint. ]

"So you're useless."

[ I am informative. Many skills and abilities in the universe can increase speed, alter appearance, or provide counter-assassin measures. Hundreds. What you have are not those. They are *your* version of those concepts. The end result may look similar—faster movement, a changed aura, a detected trap—but the 'how' is a black box even to the System. It is a personal law, written in your soul. You must discover it yourself. ]

Saquin grunted. Of course. Nothing could ever be simple. He focused on the {Speed} rune first, pushing a thread of Senar into it.

It didn't flood his body with adrenaline or make the world slow down. Instead, it felt like a series of precise, internal clicks. The rune didn't make him faster. It made the concept of acceleration around specific points of his body more efficient. When he willed himself to move, the Senar in his leg muscles didn't just explode; it was coordinated, channeled, and recycled with zero waste. His first test sprint wasn't just quicker; it was eerily silent, with no wasted wind resistance, as if the air itself got out of the way of the specific parts of him that needed to move. It was speed without friction, without the dramatic rush. It felt less like running and more like being selectively teleported forward in tiny, rapid increments.

"Huh," he said, skidding to a stop. "It's not a boost. It's an… optimization. It removes the drag. From everything."

He switched to {Disguise}. Channeling Senar into the fluid rune on his ribs caused a faint shimmer to pass over his skin, but his appearance didn't change. His white fit stayed white. His face remained his. Yet, he felt different. He focused, thinking of the last aura he'd felt—the weary, dusty, paper-pushing aura of the Rimfrar official, Sanmium.

Nothing visual happened. But when he flared his Senar slightly, it didn't feel like his own icy, spatial, and dead-cold signature. It felt… bureaucratic. Dull. Overworked. A faint smell of dust and cheap synth-paper seemed to cling to him. The rune wasn't changing his shape; it was overwriting his presence's signature, masking his unique Senar fingerprint with a borrowed one. The passive effect was a quiet understanding in the back of his mind—an instinct for postures, minor gait adjustments, and mannerisms that would sell the disguise. It was an actor's tool, not a shapeshifter's.

"So I can look like me but feel like someone else. Great for walking past scanners. Useless for impersonating, well, except if I have a twin."

[ Precisely. It alters the metaphysical impression, not the physical vessel. ]

Now, for the main event. He focused on the massive, dormant tapestry of {Assassinbane} etched into his back. Pouring Senar into it didn't cause a flashy effect. Instead, knowledge seeped into his consciousness—not from the World Will, but from the rune itself.

It was a defensive library, a suite of counter-measures hardwired into his being.

Trap Detection: He didn't see traps. He felt a faint, spatial wrongness in his vicinity—a pressure where air should be clear, a cold spot that wasn't from his ice, a Senar pattern that looped back on itself suspiciously. It was a gut feeling given the weight of certainty.

Shapeshift Picker: This was niche. If someone used a transformative or illusory disguise near him, the rune wouldn't just see through it. It would, with enough focus, unpick the specific sequence of the disguise, understanding its method. He couldn't copy it, but he could understand how to unravel it.

And then there was the crown jewel, the reason for the rune's terrifying complexity. Shadow Counter.

Most assassination techniques relied on one fundamental trick: Hiding in the Shadows. Not just literal darkness, but the shadows of perception, of Senar fields, of dimensional folds.

{Assassinbane} didn't just allow him to detect such hiding. It allowed him to invalidate it. If he focused on a patch of shadow—real or metaphorical—where he knew or suspected an assassin lurked, he could channel the rune's power to, for a brief moment, make that shadow not a hiding place. It was a conceptual denial. You cannot hide here, because I say this is not hideable. The hidden would be forcibly exposed, their technique violently disrupted.

It was absurdly powerful. And utterly useless to test right now, with no assassins around.

A grin spread across Saquin's face. It was cold, sharp, and full of predatory satisfaction. "So that's the pinnacle assassin existence, huh? Not just being better at hiding, but making hiding itself pointless for everyone else."

[ An elegant interpretation, ] the World Will conceded. [ And likely correct. ]

The thrill of discovery was electric, but it was also mentally draining. He'd pushed his mind and soul hard—first mastering Supreme Abilities, then integrating new Runes. The pile of un-sorted loot from Oke City and his recent kills still loomed in his inventory, a chore he'd been avoiding.

He needed a break. But not the kind where he did nothing.

He needed to break something else.

His gaze lifted from his own hands to the frozen, endless grey plains of the mini-world. A slow, destructive idea took root.

"Enough with the subtle stuff," he muttered, cracking his knuckles. The {Speed} rune's warmth faded as he withdrew its Senar. "Time for the opposite of subtle."

He focused inward, finding the skill he'd looted but never used. The Active Hyper-level skill from one of the countless city defenders or rebels he'd mowed down.

{Ice Rain}.

The name was straightforward. The potential, given his Dead Cold and Ice Manipulation, was anything but.

He didn't ask the World Will. He didn't consult a manual. He simply tapped into the skill's structure, fed it a massive surge of Senar fueled by his Dead Cold affinity, and pointed a finger at the empty sky.

"Let's see what 'Hyper' really means."

---

The detonation of {Ice Rain} had turned a square kilometer of the mini-world into a shattered, glacial wasteland. Satisfied with the raw destructive scope of the Hyper skill, Saquin left the frozen battlefield and Viva's statue behind. He was the master of this pocket dimension. He could return to that spot with a thought.

Now, he wanted to see what else his private world contained.

He traveled for what felt like hours, the grey twilight unchanging. The geography shifted from plains to rocky badlands, then to a vast, rust-colored canyon. It was there he found the horde.

Cyan Bulls.

They were massive creatures, each the size of a ground car, with thick hides the color of stormclouds and pulsing, neon-blue veins that glowed along their flanks like circuit diagrams. They moved in a restless, lowing herd, hundreds strong, their hooves churning the crimson dust into a perpetual haze. The air vibrated with a deep, metallic hum—the sound of their Earth and Metal Affinities resonating.

Saquin observed from a high cliff. {Observe} flickered, feeding him data.

[ Cyan Bull - Earth-Born. Rank: Senar User (New/True). Common Bloodline (Mundane). Affinity: Earth/Metal. Primary Skill: Charge. ]

Most were as described. User-level, mundane. But scattered among them were larger specimens, their blue veins brighter, their hides etched with faint, hereditary patterns. {Observe} tagged these as having Hyper-level bloodlines. And at the herd's center, a beast that stood half again as tall as the others, its horns wreathed in flickering, cerulean flame. Its veins didn't just glow; they seemed to flow with liquid light.

[ Cyan Bull Leader - Earth-Born. Rank: Senar User (True). Bloodline: Hyper (Azure Vein). Affinity: Lava (Azure Variant). ]

Azure Lava. Saquin's interest sharpened from casual to pointed. A rare mutation. This wasn't just a training exercise anymore; it was a loot pinata.

The herd detected him. A unified, resentful bellow rose from the canyon as hundreds of horned heads turned upward, glowing blue eyes fixing on his silhouette. The ground began to tremble as the first line of bulls lowered their heads, their Skill activating.

{Charge}.

It wasn't just a run. Space itself seemed to compress in front of them, the skill amplifying their mass and velocity into a single, terrifying vector of force. A dozen bulls became living siege projectiles, the air screaming around them.

A week ago, this would have been a problem. An hour ago, it would have required effort. Just a bit.

Now, Saquin simply activated the {Speed} rune.

The world didn't slow. He simply ceased to be inefficient. He stepped off the cliff. Gravity's pull became a suggestion he accepted and optimized. He fell not like a stone, but like a needle, the air parting for him without a whisper of resistance. He landed amidst the first wave of charging bulls not with an impact, but an arrival.

To them, he was a phantom that materialized in their midst.

His hands were already moving. {Cold Fist} met the first bull's skull. The crack of freezing bone was louder than the thunder of hooves. He didn't punch through; he flash-froze the core of its brain. The massive beast collapsed mid-stride, becoming a frozen barricade that tripped two others.

Chaos erupted.

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