NOVEL NEXT Chapter 134: A Forest of Spears
The rage of the previous days had cooled, forged by grief and purpose into the cold, hard steel of resolve. Leaving Sylvandell, now a bastion of nascent strength under the silent watch of a thunder-golem, felt like leaving a part of my own heart behind. But inaction was a luxury we couldn't afford. King Thalanil and his Featherleaf Crown were not a threat that would simply fade away. They were a festering wound that needed to be understood before it could be cauterized.
For two weeks, Nyx and I moved like whispers through the vast, ancient forest. This was a world unto itself, the trees larger and older than any I had seen, their canopy a near-solid roof of green that plunged the forest floor into a perpetual twilight. We traveled at a pace that would have killed a mundane creature, a relentless, silent glide through the undergrowth, our footsteps making no sound, our passage leaving no trace. I was not an intruder in this forest; I was a breeze.
Every three days, I would find a suitable spot — the hollow of an ancient, petrified tree, a deep crevice in a mossy cliff-face — and I would place a beacon. Leoric, in his obsessive genius, had outdone himself. They weren't just transponders; he called them Sympathetic Resonance Beacons. Each one was a small, fist-sized disc of inert-looking stone, but its core contained a sliver of crystal harmonically attuned to the nexus of the Veiled Path. Once placed, it would silently and passively draw a trickle of ambient essence, weaving it into a microscopic, stable wormhole dedicated to a single purpose: psionic communication. It was a technology so far beyond anything back from our world that it might as well have been magic from the gods. Which, I supposed, it was.
After pressing the fourth beacon into the soft loam at the base of a great waterfall, I keyed the activation sequence with a pulse of my own mana.
"Comms check, Jeeves." The words a mere thought, the only sound being the distant roar of waterfalls.
A moment of silence, and then Jeeves' voice, perfectly clear and crisp, materialized directly in my mind. "Loud and clear, Master Eren. The signal integrity from this node is 99.7%. Leoric expresses his satisfaction."
"Give him my compliments," I murmured, a faint smile touching my lips. "Status report."
"The strike team just completed their delve into the 'Whispering Barrow' an hour ago, Master Eren. Their efficiency has increased by another twelve percent. Miss Eliza and Leoric have successfully stabilized the primary matter-weaving conduit in the Cradle's forge, though they lament the current power limitations. Bastion is quiet. All protocols remain green."
"Good. Keep me updated," I said, severing the connection. The ability to reach back to my fortress, my family, from this deep in hostile territory was a comfort so profound it felt like a shield.
Nyx materialized from the shadows beside me, her form a seamless part of the gloom. "A reassuring advantage, Lord Eren."
"It's the only way this works," I agreed. "Knowing our home is secure is what allows us to be the blade out here."
We continued on. Two full weeks of this rhythm — silent travel, beacon placement, quick status checks. It was on the fifteenth day that the forest finally began to change. The ancient, wild trees gave way to more orderly groves, the forest floor cleared of underbrush. We were no longer in the wilderness. We were in someone's garden.
Cresting a low ridge, we saw it. Spread across a wide, gentle valley was a town, a city by frontier standards. A river, clear and blue, wound through its center, spanned by elegant, arching bridges of white stone. The architecture was beautiful, elven artistry in full display, with slender towers that seemed to grow from the very earth and homes built in the sheltering boughs of immense, silver-leafed trees. It was prosperous. It was peaceful. And it was packed.
I activated my [Predator's Gaze], my perception sweeping over the valley like a silent hawk. My mind reeled. "Population estimates, Nyx?"
"From visual analysis, I would project thirty, perhaps forty thousand souls."
"Confirmed," I murmured, processing the sea of life-signatures below. But it was the quality, not the quantity, that gave me pause. Auras of power, thousands upon thousands of them, glowed with the steady, confident light of Tier 3 practitioners. I saw hundreds that burned with the intense, focused glare of peak Tier 3, elves who were a single step away from their next evolution. But that was the ceiling. Aside from a handful of signatures in the most prominent keep that might have brushed the bottom of Tier 4 — captains or local nobles, perhaps — the town was a plateau of solid, but unremarkable, power.
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The prince, Faelus, had been maybe mid-Tier 4, and he was royalty. It was a startling realization. My team, my little eight-person family, could likely have sacked this entire city on our own. A cold, sobering thought followed. This was what a normal, successful civilization integrated with the System for almost a century looked like: a slow, generational grind upwards. What we had... what the Sanctum, the Cradle, and our Soul Lines from Earth had given us... it wasn't just an advantage. It was an obscene, reality-breaking cheat code. It was the difference between climbing a mountain and being born on its summit.
"Their strength is in numbers, and they are not to be underestimated, Lord Eren," Nyx cautioned, sensing my thoughts. "But I concur. The disparity in individual power is… significant."
"It means we can move with more confidence," I decided, pushing down the surge of pride. "But it also means we need to be more careful. An unexpected power like mine, showing up here, would be an event. Not just a curiosity." I wasn't going to risk a Glimpse on this. My precognition was an ultimate trump card, to be saved for a life-or-death moment, not wasted on simple infiltration.
"A vessel is required," I said, my gaze sweeping the town's outskirts, looking for patterns. "A cover. Someone whose presence is expected, but whose absence for a few hours won't be immediately noticed."
"I will assume the role," Nyx stated.
For the next two hours, we observed. I watched, unseen from our perch, using my enhanced senses to track the comings and goings from the town. We quickly identified a candidate. An elf with a peak Tier 3 signature, living in a small, isolated home on the edge of town. He wore sturdy, well-made leather armor and carried a fine, rune-etched longbow. He moved with the quiet competence of a seasoned adventurer or hunter. And, most importantly, he was a loner. He spoke to no one on his return to his home, simply nodding at the gate guards before disappearing inside. Perfect.
We waited for dusk. As the sky turned a deep violet, Nyx and I slipped down from the ridge. Her shadow-meld was so perfect that even my senses could barely track her. We approached the adventurer's small home. There were no lights inside. He was likely asleep.
"No killing, unless absolutely necessary," I sent to Nyx.
"Understood."
I didn't need to touch the door. I focused my will, a sliver of my Domain's conceptual weight, and poured it into the room. Not the crushing, annihilating pressure of my rage, but the deep, inexorable gravity of a world holding its breath. It was the feeling of being miles beneath the ocean, a pressure that didn't harm, but simply insisted on stillness. Inside, the elf's consciousness, trying to fight it for a moment, simply… gave up. He slumped into a sleep so deep it bordered on a coma. He wouldn't wake for at least a day.
Nyx flowed through the locked door like smoke. A moment later, she emerged. She was no longer Nyx. Standing before me was the elven adventurer, Braekor, from the way he held his shoulders to the slightly cynical cant of his mouth. It was a perfect, flawless mimicry, right down to the aura of his power.
I drew my [Prime Axiom's Nullifying Veil] around myself like a shroud, tightening it until my own presence was a complete and total void. I wasn't just hidden. I was a blank spot in reality, a patch of nothingness that the eye would slide over without registering.
Together, we walked towards the main gate. The guards, carrying spears tipped with glowing green crystal, straightened as Nyx approached. They were professionals, their eyes sharp, their posture alert.
"Safe travels, Braekor?" one of them asked, his tone respectful. "The Gloomfang spiders have been aggressive near the western ridge."
Nyx, in Braekor's gruff, quiet voice, simply nodded. "Nothing I couldn't handle."
"Good to hear it," the guard said, waving her through. "May the leaves light your path."
They didn't give me a second glance. I walked right past them, a foot away from the nearest guard, as unnoticed as a mote of dust in the evening air. It was a heady, chilling feeling of absolute power.
We walked the clean, stone-paved streets of the elven town. Lanterns containing soft, glowing moss lit the way, casting a gentle green light on the beautiful architecture. Elves moved with a quiet grace, their voices soft and melodic. It was a stark contrast to the gritty, boisterous energy of Bastion. It was beautiful. And it was the heart of my enemy's kingdom.
Nyx, playing her part perfectly, led us towards the center of the town. We passed bakeries wafting the scent of sweet-nut bread, and smithies where the ring of hammers on steel was a soft, musical chime. Finally, we arrived before one of the largest buildings in the town square. A great, circular structure built around a living ironwood tree, with a heavy, rune-carved door. A simple sign hung above it: a sword and a scroll, crossed. The Adventurer's Guild.
This was the nexus of information. The place where mercenaries gathered, where bounties were posted, and where rumors from across the kingdom would inevitably collect. It was the perfect place to start.
Nyx, as Braekor pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside, with me, her silent, invisible phantom, right at her heel.