The dawn was pale gold when Ren rose from his bed at the inn. With the last of his preparations complete—gear checked, supplies packed, coin pouch secured—he stepped out into the quiet streets of Newvale. The morning fog clung low to the cobblestones as he gave a final glance back toward the guild building. Then, without fanfare, he set off northward toward the trade city.
Ren traveled alone, but never idly.
Each step across open road and forest path was accompanied by the low hum of magic beneath his feet. Blink. He cast the short-range space spell rhythmically, vanishing and reappearing in bursts across the terrain, sometimes traveling dozens of meters in an instant. Though each cast shaved away mana, the cooldowns were short, and he'd trained his regeneration to keep pace. His travel time—what should have taken three days—began shrinking hour by hour.
By midday, Ren had already passed through two smaller villages, barely stopping to rest. And by nightfall, when the sky dimmed and the stars glistened above the trees, he stepped into the Still World.
Time slowed.
Within the necklace's sanctuary, Ren found his peace. He trained. He tested variations of sword forms. Practiced his spell casting mid-combat. Experimented with time dilation spells, blink precision, and even a few mixed elemental sword arts. The room had no walls—just an empty, moonlit field where time was his to command.
After his routine, he sat by a conjured fire and whispered to Seraphina, "I could get used to this."
It was during one of these nights, sitting cross-legged in meditation, that the idea came to him—not a fleeting thought, but a vision.
A home.
Not just a resting place—but a sanctuary.
A base.
His mind exploded with designs.
"A large central hall," he murmured to himself, eyes half closed. "A workshop for crafting—fully equipped. My own forge, better than anything I've used so far. A separate space for tailoring... I could even integrate the enchantment thread methods I learned from the tailoring books."
He continued, listing off rooms like building blocks. "An alchemy lab, large enough to experiment with complex elixirs. A leathercraft area, ventilation for treating hides. Maybe even a testing ground for weapons—one hidden in the back."
Then he laughed softly to himself.
"A storefront," he said. "To display my creations. Let people see what a lone craftsman can do."
In the Still World, time passed as Ren drew mental blueprints with magical diagrams sketched in light. He organized space partitioning, resource channels, even mana conduits for enchantment support through the walls. His vision wasn't just a house—it was a fortress of creativity. A forge-temple for a creator.
By morning, he exited the Still World and resumed his journey with renewed purpose.
As he walked, he observed the terrain—carefully choosing ideal locations tucked between hill crests and dense woods. Areas with access to water, with strong earth mana flows in the soil.
More importantly, he began gathering.
He plucked tough roots from the ground, extracted ores from visible veins with precise strikes, and harvested tree bark and resin. Even mundane materials like stone and clay were added to his Dimensional Storage. He wasn't just traveling now—he was resource hunting.
And every bit he collected, every small project he planned, made the vision more real.
One day soon, he would build his home.
A place untouched by the world.
A place shaped by his hands.
A place worthy of the title—Creator.
That night, deep within the Still World, Ren stood alone beneath the stars of his private dimension. Here, time moved as he commanded. A perfect crucible for creation.
He focused, hands weaving glowing silver strands in the air.
"A spatial anchor," he murmured, visualizing the theory. He shaped a glowing construct—a rune of interlocking rings, marked by sigils representing location, identity, and return path. His own mana flowed through it, imprinting the signature.
It shimmered—then vanished, anchored to the world.
Ren walked twenty steps away, inhaled sharply, then focused on that invisible point in space. Find the anchor. Collapse the gap. Move without movement.
The space around him twisted. A silent pulse of mana erupted—
—and he vanished.
A blink later, he reappeared exactly where the anchor had been placed. No flash. No delay.
Then came the prompt:
You have created a new skill: Marked Teleportation
Skill Type: Active — Custom Variant
Allows instant teleportation to a manually placed spatial anchor.
Cast Time: Instantaneous
Mana Cost: 500
Duration of Anchor: 48 hours
Proficiency: 1/10
Note: This skill bypasses normal cast time due to conceptual mastery.
Ren blinked, heart pounding. "Instant. No delay. This... is broken."
Seraphina's voice echoed with awe. "You've not just learned the skill—you've refined it beyond what the system offers. This is your version now. Your signature."
Ren grinned. "I'm calling it—Flash Gate."
He immediately placed several new anchors and practiced teleporting between them, chaining movements into dashes and blinks, appearing at odd angles around imaginary enemies. The movements were seamless, aggressive—frighteningly efficient.
"This… this changes everything."
Ren crouched low behind the twisted rock outcropping, the air still humming from the last spell discharge. His breath came easy. He wasn't tired—far from it. This was just a moment to think. To observe. Around him, the ruined battlefield still smoldered from the elemental backlash.
He narrowed his eyes at the craters and charred earth left behind. Then, slowly, he smiled.
"This is it," he murmured, fingers glowing faintly with leftover mana.
Ever since unlocking teleportation magic, Ren's movements had evolved. Blink, Phantom Step, Shadow Veil—he could dance around the battlefield like a ghost. But teleportation markers? That changed everything. What began as a simple movement technique had become something far more dangerous: a trigger, a trap, a weapon.
Seraphina had been the one to remind him.
"Why buy the skill when you already understand its theory?"
He had tested it, shaping teleportation magic into a rune. Not just any rune—a personal sigil, designed from scratch with the same meticulous precision he used for alchemy and forging. With it, he could leap across the field, and leave behind more than just footsteps.
He could leave chaos.
The Runic Arsenal
Each rune he created was crafted with elemental intent and brutal clarity:
Ignis Sigil, for fire. A spiraling flame rune that burst into detonations that tore enemies off their feet.
Fulmen Crest, for lightning. Sharp, arcing lines that chained shocks through clustered foes.
Aqua Vein, for water. Subtle, rippling marks that launched needles sharp enough to pierce through enchanted plate.
Gale Spire, for wind. Swirling glyphs that created violent updrafts, launching enemies skyward like leaves in a storm.
Terra Fang, for earth. Crude but deadly, raising spikes from the ground that shattered formations and broke charge lines.
Each rune cost only 20 mana, a negligible amount to Ren now. But their effects were devastating—multiplied not by power alone, but by design. Every rune was a perfect fusion of alchemy, space manipulation, and elemental theory.
This wasn't magic.
This was warfare.
Flow of Combat
It began with movement. Always movement.
He'd blink behind an enemy—just a flicker of wind and light—and plant a rune on the ground or their back. Phantom Step carried him out again, just as the fire ignited or the lightning cracked.
Sometimes, he'd teleport mid-air, placing a water rune mid-leap, and then detonate it as he landed. Or use Shadow Dash to leave an earth rune where he once stood, a trap for the fool who chased too closely.
His fighting style was no longer linear. It was a rotating rhythm of vanish, mark, retreat, strike, with each rune exploding like a heartbeat.
Enemies didn't know where to look. Where he would strike next.
Sometimes, he didn't know either. He just moved.
Skill Evolution
As Ren practiced this method in real battle, something unexpected began to happen—his skills evolved.
The teleportation itself grew faster. The rune placements became second nature. His mana efficiency skyrocketed. Then came the passives:
A 10% reduction in Blink cooldown.
A chain reaction bonus if two or more runes were triggered in sequence.
An Arcane Footprint passive that inscribed a free rune wherever he landed with a skill-based movement.
He blinked behind a boss once and impaled it with a Terra Fang before the beast even finished turning.
He dashed past a bandit and left an Ignis Sigil on his back. It exploded just as the bandit raised his sword.
One enemy tried to pursue him after a teleport. He triggered Gale Spire beneath her feet—she flew thirty feet into the air, screaming, before gravity reminded her of her mistake.
Ren's Reflection
Later, resting by a quiet stream with the sun dipping behind the trees, Ren reviewed his status menu. Dozens of skill notifications glimmered there—new passives, evolved combos, magic affinities tuned to his movement.
He chuckled softly, brushing his thumb across the pommel of his sword.
"I don't need to overpower enemies anymore," he whispered. "I just need to move better than them. Think faster. Strike before they even see me."
Seraphina's voice echoed gently in his mind.
"You're not just fighting with magic or steel now. You're fighting with the battlefield itself."
He stared at the rippling water of the stream. His reflection blinked back at him.
"Then it's time I built the battlefield in my favor."