The Reincarnated Prince And His Rune Dominion

Chapter 05 – Magic Ink

Two Years Later (Age 5 Years)

“One, two… one, two…”

The rhythmic count echoed across the training field, as firm as war drums. Whose voice was that? Of course, my voice.

My name is Victor Caelwyn, prince of the Velmoria Kingdom. And this morning, like every morning, I was running. Training. Pushing my limits.

Why exercise? Simple, for endurance. Maybe I could relax inside the palace, but out there, in the wild, in unknown territory, in the depths of dungeons, rest was a luxury. Especially in the mid to lower floors, where survival depended on every breath, every heartbeat.

I could not be weak. Even as a child.

As my feet pounded the ground and my thoughts wandered, I heard someone calling me.

“Prince…”

I did not stop.

“Yes… please continue…” I said, almost without pause, my breath still steady as I kept running.

Usually, when I spoke like that, people immediately understood and returned to their own business.

But this man did not.

He kept walking beside me with a wide smile on his face, his boots striking against the stones.

“What are you doing out here, Prince?”

I stopped and stared at him flatly.

“Running.”

He chuckled as if it was funny.

“So… why are you running, Prince?”

Enough. I turned fully to face him.

“None of your business,” I said flatly. “Mind your own work.”

Without another word, I quickened my pace and left him behind, where he belonged.

----

One Hour Later

“Hah… hah… hah…”

I lay at the edge of the training field, my chest rising and falling with the rhythm of my breath, sweat soaking my clothes.

The morning sun had risen high, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Around me, the once-empty field was now filling, guards and knights arriving to train. The sounds of clashing swords, spirited shouts, and stomping boots filled the air.

“Hiaa…!!”

-CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!-

-SHING! CLANG! SCRAANG!-

“Yaa…!!”

-TING! TING! TING!-

At the edge of the field, a squad captain strode forward, shouting,

“Come on, start the training! Don’t be lazy!” he yelled at the soldiers just out of the barracks.

Curious, I leaned casually with one elbow against the fence. My eyes followed their every move.

-CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!-

-SHING! CLANG! SCRAANG!-

They said, this was the most popular, and the purest method of training in the kingdom. Today, I wanted to see it directly.

How true knights trained, fought, and walked their path.

I did not come just to watch.

I came to learn.

-------------------

Two Hours Later

I began to feel bored.

-CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!-

-SHING! CLANG! SCRAANG!-

-TING! TING! TING!-

Seeing the same sword swings and shield drills repeated again and again quickly drained my admiration.

What had first felt full of spirit… now felt boring.

I knew that if I stepped forward and asked one of the knights to teach me, they would surely say the same thing as always,

“It is still too early for a prince to hold a weapon.”

Yes. Too early.

Too young.

Too fragile.

With a heavy sigh, I patted the dust from my clothes and turned back toward the palace.

Fine. If I could not train like them, I would return to my room.

For what?

Clearly, to study Rune Magic.

The outer wooden frame was already finished, every joint and panel fitted in place.

What remained was the installation of the framework and the writing of runes on the inside.

But there was one problem…

“Reina, has the ink arrived? I need it,” I asked while glancing back with a glimmer of hope.

“Not yet,” she answered with her usual flat expression.

Magic Ink.

Not ordinary ink, but the kind that gives life to runes. Without it, all my effort was useless. The frame would only be an empty shell.

I exhaled, leaned back, and stared at the unfinished project.

Waiting again.

If I tried to draw a wind rune only by hand and pure mana, the result disappeared immediately as soon as the wind blew.

Too weak. Too unstable. And the mana consumption? Ridiculous.

After trying many times, I finally began to understand,

The mana was drained too quickly during the rune formation process. It had no chance to stabilize, much less activate.

So the best method?

Draw the rune first. Let it settle.

Then channel mana, slowly, carefully, following the desired flow.

Not spectacular, indeed. But it worked.

And in magic, stability was more important than grandeur.

----------------------

Three Hours Later

As I was redrawing rune structures on paper, lost in thought, I heard a voice:

“Prince…”

It was Reina. She stood at the doorway, holding a small bottle with both hands.

I did not need to ask. I knew for sure, that was it.

The Magic Ink I had been waiting for.

Magic ink, distilled from the magic core of mid-class mana monsters.

Not too rare, but not common either. Few requested it, so the supply was scarce. That was what made it hard to find.

Especially if you were only five years old.

But now, the ink was here. And my project could finally continue.

I immediately stood, my eyes locked on the bottle in Reina’s hands. Without thinking, I reached for it gently and held it like treasure.

No time to waste.

I opened the bottle, dipped the brush, and began drawing runes directly onto the wooden frame of the exoskeleton.

Every stroke had to be precise, one wrong line and the whole circuit could collapse.

This was not mere decoration. This was an installation process.

And finally, that process began.

----------------------

One Year Later (Age 6 Years)

That night was quiet, filled only by the soft hum of my tools as I worked on my exoskeleton. The candlelight flickered, its shadows dancing across the half-finished frame before me.

I had just tightened the core socket into place when,

Wuuush…

A gust of wind entered from the slightly open window, swaying the curtains like a whisper of the night.

I turned.

And there she was.

A woman stood at the window, her figure framed by the night sky. Short black hair, jet-black eyes that pierced into my soul, and a long dark wizard’s cloak that fluttered in the wind. She looked as though she had stepped out of a forbidden grimoire—graceful, dangerous, and utterly out of place in a child’s room.

For a moment, I froze.

Without thinking, a single word slipped from my lips, soft and sincere,

“… Goddess.”

The woman heard and laughed softly, her voice melodic and resonant like magic itself. A faint smile curled on her lips as she stepped closer, her black cloak trailing like a shadow.

“Hello, my little prince…” she said, her voice smooth like velvet, wrapped in a tone of teasing.

“Let me introduce myself. My name is Veyra.”

She tilted her head slightly, her eyes glimmering with unreadable depth.

“Sorry, Darling… I am not a goddess… But most people call me by the same name as my Gifted. They call me… a witch.”

My heart beat faster. Not out of fear, but because of something else.

Was it Admiration? Or was it Unease?

She crouched slightly to be level with me, brushing her hair aside from her face, then asked with a teasing tone,

“So, my Prince… how are you?”