Myriad Heavens: Rise of the Rune God

Chapter 211: The Supremes’ Offer

Runar stepped out of the pavilion, leaving Celestia to continue cultivating inside. A clone of Supreme Eternal Scholar stood waiting a short distance away, calm and scholarly in appearance.

Runar did not recognize the man, but the moment his Myriad Genesis Eye swept over him, he instantly understood. This was no ordinary expert. The profound aura, the way reality itself seemed to bend slightly around him — this was a Supreme.

Runar bowed respectfully. "Hello, Supreme One."

The Supreme clone’s eyes flickered with clear surprise. He had not expected the boy to identify his status so easily and accurately. Most cultivators at Runar’s level would have sensed something powerful and kept their guard up, unsure of what they were dealing with. This one had simply looked, understood, and responded with perfect composure. He quickly composed himself and returned a slight nod.

"I am Eternal Scholar," the clone introduced himself. "I hope I’m not disturbing your training. Would you be willing to speak with me in private?"

Runar nodded. "Of course."

The Supreme clone waved his hand, opening a stable portal. They stepped through together into a private dimension.

The world that greeted them was breathtaking — a vast, vibrant paradise full of life and vitality. Lush ancient forests stretched endlessly in every direction. Towering trees with glowing leaves reached toward a brilliant sky, while colorful spirit flowers bloomed everywhere. Crystal-clear rivers flowed gently through the landscape, and the air itself was thick with pure, nourishing origin energy. It felt like a living, breathing paradise of growth and harmony.

Runar breathed it in slowly. He could feel the energy here was different from what he was used to — older, richer, like the difference between river water and deep ocean water. Even standing still, his body was passively absorbing trace amounts of it without effort.

They sat on a smooth stone platform beside a small, sparkling waterfall. Supreme Eternal Scholar personally brewed a pot of rare tea, his movements unhurried and precise, the kind of ease that came from having done something ten thousand times over countless years. The aroma that rose from the cups was deep, earthy, and incredibly refreshing.

Runar took a sip and his eyes lit up with genuine appreciation. "This tea is excellent. The flavor is profound and full of vitality. I’ve never tasted anything quite like it."

The Supreme smiled faintly. "I only bring this tea out for special guests and special occasions. The beans and tea leaves come from a Universal Tree life form — an alien invader from another universe that tried to devour our universe’s origin. I fought it once. It was incredibly difficult to deal with. Its vitality was immense, allowing it to regenerate endlessly. I couldn’t kill it in the end, but I managed to rip off several branches, leaves, and beans before it escaped."

Runar listened quietly to the story. He thought about all the Supremes out there, fighting on the front lines against such terrifying threats. There was something humbling about it — beings at the absolute peak of power, still struggling, still enduring. The universe was vast, and its dangers were proportional to that vastness.

After a moment, he bowed his head sincerely. "Thank you for your service, Supreme. All of you fight to protect our universe. It is because of your efforts that we can cultivate in peace."

Eternal Scholar looked mildly surprised, then gave a small nod of acknowledgment, clearly pleased by the genuine respect. He studied Runar for a quiet moment over the rim of his teacup.

"You are young," the Supreme said at last. "Exceptionally young for someone at your level. And yet you speak like someone who has carried weight for a long time." He set his cup down. "The others who briefed me on you didn’t quite capture that."

Runar smiled slightly. "People often report what they can measure. The rest gets left out."

Eternal Scholar tilted his head, something shifting in his expression — a deepening of his interest. "Tell me something. When you identified me just now — the method you used. That was not a conventional soul perception technique."

"No," Runar agreed. "It wasn’t."

He didn’t elaborate, and the Supreme, to his credit, didn’t push. A man who asked too many questions about another’s secrets did not last long at the highest levels of cultivation. Instead, Eternal Scholar refilled both cups and shifted direction.

"Your progress has been... unusual," the Supreme said, choosing the word carefully. "The Rules you’ve been comprehending — the patterns our observers have noted — there is a breadth to them that doesn’t fit a standard cultivation path. Most geniuses go deep in one direction. You seem to be building something wider."

"A foundation," Runar said.

"For what?"

Runar was quiet for a moment, watching the waterfall beside them. The water caught the light strangely here — each droplet seeming to hold a tiny reflection of the whole world around it.

"For what comes after this universe," he said simply.

Eternal Scholar was still. The words weren’t arrogant — they weren’t a boast. They were said the same way someone might say they were preparing for winter. Factual. Patient. Already decided.

The Supreme picked up his cup again and said nothing for a long moment.

"You know," Eternal Scholar said finally, "I have met many geniuses across my years. Ones who burned brilliantly and ones who built steadily. I have rarely met one who felt like they already knew the road they were walking — not because they were arrogant, but because they had genuinely already seen far enough ahead."

Runar met his gaze. "I have had good reasons to look ahead."

Something in that answer satisfied the Supreme in a way an outright explanation wouldn’t have. He nodded, slow and deliberate, then set his cup down with the kind of finality that signaled a shift in conversation.

"Now then," he said. "What can I do for you? Do you need resources? Pills, treasures, cultivation materials — anything at all?"

Runar shook his head. "I don’t need resources right now. What I need most is time to fully comprehend my Rules. However... there is something else I would like to request."

He looked directly at the Supreme clone. "I need help establishing a stable universal space-time wormhole to another universe."

The atmosphere changed. It was subtle — the waterfall still flowed, the spirit flowers still swayed — but Eternal Scholar’s calm took on a different quality. Not alarm, precisely, but the attentiveness of a man who had just heard something that required his full weight of consideration.

"That is an extremely difficult task, even for us," the Supreme said. "Creating and stabilizing a wormhole between universes requires enormous power and precise control. The slightest imbalance during the process and the tunnel collapses — or worse, it destabilizes the spatial boundary on both ends. Even at my level, it is not something I would attempt carelessly."

"I know it’s difficult," Runar replied calmly. "I can open it myself. I only need your power to help stabilize and anchor it properly."

Eternal Scholar looked at him for a long moment. The claim was extraordinary — opening a universal wormhole independently, at his current cultivation level, should have been flatly impossible. And yet, looking at the young man sitting across from him, the Supreme found he could not dismiss the statement. There was no bravado in it. Just quiet certainty.

"You’ve done this before," Eternal Scholar said slowly. It wasn’t quite a question.

"Something like that," Runar answered. He lied, technically it was his system that opened the channel to transfer his soul, but this time around he had his Genesis Eye to do so. So it wasn’t technically a lie.

That single reply carried more weight than an entire explanation would have. Eternal Scholar sat back slightly, reassessing in real time. He was a man who had accumulated knowledge across an incomprehensible span of years. He knew what it meant when the gaps in a person’s story were shaped exactly like the things that couldn’t be said.

"Which universe?" the Supreme asked.

"I’ll know it when I find the resonance," Runar replied. "I’m not looking for a random destination."

The Supreme was silent for a moment, then said, "We can do that... but we will still need to ask permission from Willith."

At that exact moment, a mysterious, gentle yet omnipresent voice sounded out of nowhere — not from any direction in particular, but from everywhere at once, the way wind sounds when you stop and actually listen to it.

"I am fine with that," Willith said calmly, "as long as it doesn’t bring harm to the universe."

Runar smiled softly. "Willith, long time no see. I guess you’ve been watching over me."

Willith’s voice carried a hint of amusement. "Of course. You still haven’t fulfilled your promise."

"Don’t worry," Runar replied. "I will soon break through and leave this universe. I’ll keep my word."

"Okay. I hope that day comes soon enough."

The voice faded away, leaving behind a silence that felt lighter than the one before it — the kind that comes after something important has been acknowledged between old acquaintances.

Eternal Scholar was quiet for several seconds after Willith’s presence withdrew. Then he exhaled — not from fatigue, but from something closer to recalibration. He had come here expecting to assess a promising junior, perhaps offer some guidance, maybe arrange a small act of patronage. That was the usual shape of these visits.

This had been something else entirely.

"You and Willith," the Supreme said carefully, "have an unusual relationship."

"We have an understanding," Runar said.

Eternal Scholar looked at him one final time — the long, measuring look of a man filing away everything he had seen here. Then he gave a slow, genuine nod, the kind he reserved for peers rather than juniors.

"Thank you," Runar said. "I will let you know when I am ready."

The Supreme nodded, opened the portal again, and they returned.

The familiar surroundings of the sect grounds greeted them — quieter, plainer, smaller after the boundless paradise of the private dimension. The Supreme clone dissolved his portal with a simple gesture, offered one last respectful nod, and departed without ceremony. He was not the kind of man who needed a drawn-out farewell.

Runar watched him go, then turned and stepped back into the pavilion.

Celestia was still cultivating peacefully, her breathing slow and even, her presence steady like a candle flame in a room with no wind. He sat down nearby, watching over her with a calm, steady gaze. There was something grounding about it — her focus, her stillness. A reminder that the present still mattered, even when the mind was already moving toward what came next.

He picked up the thread of his own thoughts quietly, turning over the conversation without urgency.

The wheels of a much larger plan had begun to turn.