Incubus Living In A World Of Superpower Users-Chapter 267: Rune Engineering

Evelyn’s voice didn’t rise, but the weight behind it pressed more than any shout could.

"Second clarification," she continued, her steps steady as she reached the edge of the circle where Orin had been standing.

"Our outpost was established inside the Second Rift—an unstable zone with full signal corruption and no stable weather patterns.

Satellite mapping was impossible. No long-range comms. No sensor backups."

She paused just long enough for the room to register what that meant.

"We deployed field medics without supply lines. Held ground without atmospheric shielding.

Our casualty logs, heat signatures, and perimeter data weren’t filed through Moonshade channels—they were captured and verified by third-party satellites outside our jurisdiction.

Neutral agencies. Independent contractors."

Then she looked up, eyes calm, unreadable, but anchored.

"I have those reports," she said, voice clipped yet composed. "Would you like them sent now, or later?"

There was no sarcasm in her tone. No bite.

Just precision.

The silence that followed wasn’t charged with anger or tension. It simply... was complete.

The room had recognized that something final had been said and that any attempt to push back would feel like speaking out of turn at a funeral.

Orin looked down. Then away. Not in shame. Just with the expression of someone who knew they’d lost the floor.

No apology. No rebuttal.

Just a quiet retreat.

And that was that.

The class moved on, as if the moment had never happened.

—

Back in the corridor, the illusion of normalcy returned gradually.

The floating projection panels dimmed one by one behind them, flickering out like fireflies being cupped and snuffed gently between invisible fingers.

The hallway ahead stretched wide and calm, framed in soft ambient light. The silence here wasn’t awkward or eerie—it was composed, intentional.

Like the space itself was reminding them that they were in a place where observation mattered more than reaction.

The subtle pulse of rune-light threaded into the walls, the faint hum beneath each footstep as if the ground itself was waiting for permission to move.

It wasn’t silence that felt empty. It was silence with presence—like the whole corridor was holding its breath, watching, listening.

Their wristbands pulsed together as they approached the reinforced classroom door. A thin strip of red turned soft green, and the doors slid open without sound.

Inside, the space was wide, and the air was colder than expected.

The walls were stone—real stone, not synthetic—with glowing anchor runes at the corners that shimmered faintly like coals under a veil of ash.

At a glance, the room could’ve passed for a weapons testing facility or a containment cell. But it wasn’t empty.

The center was filled with a long, wide table covered in etched slates, flickering blueprints, and trays of softly glowing rune shards—each one pulsing with sealed energy like it was waiting to be released.

Class: Rune Engineering for Combat Utility.

Mistress Kalun was already inside, standing at the far end of the room with her back turned slightly.

She was tall and thin, and her robes had so many dark stains of ash, ink, and what might have been old blood that it was impossible to guess what color they had started as.

Her face was pale and angled, her expression unreadable, and she didn’t bother with introductions or greetings—no wasted words.

"Protection runes," she said, tapping the nearest slate with a crystal rod, "are useless unless you understand the motion and weight of your subject.

Static defense is a theory. In real combat, theory gets people killed."

She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to.

Her gaze scanned the room. It didn’t rest long on anyone, but when it passed over Ethan, she paused—just for a beat. Then she continued.

"Today’s assignment is to design a protection rune. But not for yourself. You’ll each be given a partner.

Their movement rhythm, weight distribution, and projected velocity will be randomly shifted during the simulation.

Your rune has to adapt. If it cracks, fails, or detonates? Your partner gets hit. That’s the only rule."

No theatrics. No ominous music or system warnings. Just clear consequences.

The students stepped forward one at a time to receive their rune plates—thin sheets of high-res alloy already layered with dormant etching lines, faintly glowing with stored kinetic charge.

Ethan studied his with practiced care. The lattice was denser and more complex than standard beginner templates, with trace channels already activated in some areas.

This wasn’t basic coursework. It was a filter disguised as an assignment.

His partner was a short, quiet girl named Miri, who had round cheeks and wide eyes and barely looked at him even as they stood across from one another.

She didn’t speak, just nodded once, and moved into position. Ethan didn’t push her for conversation.

When the simulation started, the room darkened slightly. Holographic light mapped Miri’s projected form in real time, and a set of low-level drones powered on near the ceiling, waiting to launch.

Ethan’s hands moved steadily. ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

His first glyph was a basic triple-knot barrier—standard defense layering. He wove it quickly and efficiently.

Then he added a passive detection arc around the outer curve of the plate, just enough to provide motion feedback.

But then, without thinking, his fingers moved toward the final etching line and shifted.

He didn’t plan the shape that came next.

It just... happened.

A spiral. Diagonal cross-stroke. Inner core bound by dual-tapering strokes. The alloy pulsed as the shape took form, and for a second, it felt like something reached back—like the plate responded before he even finished.

The rune shimmered twice. Then again.

Dual-flow channel. Something beyond beginner level.

Miri stepped into the activation ring as the defense drones whirred to life.

The rune didn’t anchor like most did. It didn’t form a fixed wall or bubble.

Instead, it bent—moved—and shifted with her steps like a second skin, a transparent dome that floated just far enough from her body to give her room to breathe while shielding her at every angle.

She completed the entire simulation without a single strike landing.

When the drones powered down, the air went still.

Even Mistress Kalun looked up from her slate.

"Who taught you that sync method?" she asked sharply.