CHAPTER 106

  AN INVITATION OF DEPOSITION

  A grand palace, but not of Clandor. An office, modest compared to Reina’s high chamber. Within it sat Arat— the Supreme Commander of Parv and chief among its ministers.

  “Till when do you plan to sulk, old man?”

  “You had one job, Dijkstra. One job. Kill the damn child. And you aced it.”

  “You do know you sound like evil incarnate with word choices like that, old man. And quit the sarcasm. There was something in him that made me hesitate.”

  “Hesitate? Oh, fuck you, madman,” Arat fumed. “Prince Hans is the last Imperial. It is our job to nip the buds that’ll bloom into poisonous flowers for him.”

  “Yes, yes. But did you ask our little prince if he wanted that? Challenges and enemies are what shape us, old man. We’ll only weaken the Imperial blood by helping him.”

  “Oh, don’t sugarcoat it. I’ll take a weak Imperial over a dead one.” Arat pushed a letter towards Dijkstra.

  “What is that?” asked Dijkstra.

  Arat clicked his tongue. “I was under the illusion you knew how to read. Was I wrong?”

  Dijkstra sighed. He had been tolerating Arat’s sulking for days, and it was finally getting to him. He picked it up. “Isn’t this what the Prince left us—”

  “Yes. But I think he’s still in Clandor. He didn’t want to make a mess, so he sent us out,” Arat stated.

  Puzzled Dijkstra asked. “Why?”

  “The question isn’t ‘why’, but how close he is to the Clandorians that he knew what was happening within the palace walls?”

  “I surveilled for long before taking action.” Dijkstra thought hard, recalling every turned stone. “There was no presence of Hans Parv there.” He affirmed.

  “That is what confuses me more.” Arat pointed to another letter beneath Hans’s note.

  Dijkstra unfurled it. “Crows. Now what do they want?”

  “To oust the Clandorian queen. That fool Martys wants to be the new king.”

  “Will we be switching sides?” Dijkstra asked, curious.

  “He claims to know a secret about Reina. A secret deadly enough to drag Parv down with her.”

  “So what will you do? Do you want me to kill Martys?” Dijkstra grew excited.

  Arat shook his head. “He is the current eighth-rank holder. His power is above yours by two ranks.”

  “That makes me more interested.”

  “Hold your horses, Dijkstra. However low we fall, we do not exploit betrayal within another’s family. Why? Because if we do that, our own family might betray us.”

  Dijkstra’s excitement died in an instant. “So I do not get to kill Martys.”

  “No, you do not,” Arat denied, murmuring. “But I do want to know what he holds. I need to confirm if it’s the same thing I know. Reina and I wowed to take it to our graves. It is a double-edged sword that will kill us too.”

  WEST CLANDOR— TRAINING GROUNDS

  Hans — as Theodred — had finally begun giving Riftal a hard time. He didn’t care if the prince was younger or physically weaker. He wanted to overcome this prodigy whose skills had made him see stars too many times.

  But now, with Regenratio and Lumen Gaze at their peak, he overcame the blighting skills of Riftal. And breathing hard, his sword finally reached the elven prince’s neck. “You lost, dear prince.”

  Riftal had felt Theodred — a crumbled wall becoming solid, hard, towering with each battle.

  He took Theodred’s hand and stood. “I’ll be back. Next time you won’t win,” Riftal said, running back.

  It was the most Theodred had heard Riftal say.

  “He is becoming your friend,” said Allynna, following her brother up the second set of steps.

  Hans scratched his head and turned toward his side. “How long do you plan to watch from the shadows, Teacher?”

  A soft hum followed. “Hmm... you saw me?

  “You're the one who taught me to read the invisible,” Hans replied, as Reina materialised beside him, her gaze still fixed on their departing children.

  “You do know,” he added, glancing her way, “they’d appreciate it if you were a little more upfront about worrying for them, Teacher.”

  “It’s none of your business, dear disciple,” she said coolly. “But the third skill is—you're already close to breaking through Grade Thirty.” Her eyes swept over him, appraising. “It’s a good time to teach you something deadly. Maximacre.”

  Theodred blinked, confusion flickering across his face. Even as Hans, he knew little more than the name—a brief entry in a classified report. His eyes silently asked for more, and Reina obliged.

  “This skill grants extreme sharpness to the blade. Sharp enough to tear through metal like parchment,” she began. “Elves lack the raw strength of humans or dwarves. But what we possess—what we master—is speed and mana sensitivity. My ancestors created this to compensate for our disadvantage. And so, this skill was born.”

  She showed him the blade, her aura running through its edges with deadly precision.

  “Use Lumen Gaze.” She instructed and Hans followed.

  He could see the change in mana as in human form, but Lumen Gaze provided another perspective—more of a physical nature.

  As his eyes processed speed. Along the blade’s edge, he saw it: razor-like teeth—fine particles of aura—whirring in a continuous chain.

  “This is Maximacre,” she said. “As I said, a skill that slices through armour and blades like a hot knife through butter.”

  Then, another realisation struck Hans—how she had once rendered his absolute defence meaningless. If not for the sheer overwhelming force of his spell, he would’ve stood no chance against this woman’s subtle, merciless hunt.

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  Hans gave a dry laugh. “Touch the enemy and they bleed. Feels like cheating.”

  “It’s not cheating,” Reina said flatly. “It’s efficiency.”

  He turned back to the sword Reina handed to him. With his aura infused, to continue what Reina was doing, and its edge chipped from the intense vibration of aura he couldn't control. One slip and the whole blade shattered.

  “Keep pushing. Aura manipulation at this level isn’t supposed to be easy.” Reina handed him a bunch of chipped swords.

  “Start from the very beginning—Convert aura into ‘oscillating movement’ around the blade.”

  She picked one and gave it a faint Maximacre. She placed his hand over the blade, letting him feel the hum of circulating aura. “I call this edge channeling.”

  “I get the movement—I could see the motion but mine goes haywire. It doesn’t bend like yours.”

  “Start very slow. Disciple.” She helped him channel his aura and Hans fell silent, how scary she could control his aura as if it was hers. And though he understood how to rotate aura along the edges until it produced a subtle whirring hum.

  “Slowly increase the frequency.” She instructed.

  Snap! Another one broke. And this time into several shards.

  “Oh come on!” Hans whined, an expression that could not be Theodred’s.

  He picked another and the result was the same. But this time, it survived a moment longer.

  Sighing, Hans said. “I need a lot—a lot of swords. Teacher.”

  Reina looked at him, her eyes sharp. “I told you, disciple—each skill will only get harder. Stop chasing grades. Mastery comes first.”

  “I just…” Hans hesitated, shifting his gaze briefly at Chris and Delimira who were following Captain Nym. “I don’t want to look weak in front of them. I want to be at least a grade forty knight.”

  “Then stop wasting time complaining and get back to it.” Said Reina before disappearing once again. But this time Hans caught her presence fading, her fast, floating steps moving farther.

  Well, you look at that. Next time I won’t have to be so desperate facing her. He thought and continued failing until he succeeded.

  Twenty days later. It marked Hans’s presence in Clandor for about four months.

  And now, he began to feel the hum of his aura through the blade—steady, controlled, deadly, perfected.

  He’d done it. Mastered the third skill. He stood outside the queen’s office, a satisfied grin on his face. He pushed open the door, eager to share the news.

  “Teacher! You won’t believe it—I finally—”

  “Not now,” she cut him off sharply, eyes locked on a report. Her desk was cluttered with her mind right then.

  Hans blinked. “What’s going on?”

  Reina tossed a document across the table. “A string of robberies in the capital. Store owners murdered after being robbed. Brutal. No patterns. No leads. Elites are chasing shadows.”

  Hans frowned, picking up the report. Yet another expression that could’ve been none of Theodred’s. “They’re killing everyone?”

  “Cold blood,” she said, voice tight. “We can’t track them. Every time we get close, they vanish. Like ghosts.”

  His excitement faded as he glanced down at the document again.

  “So… I guess celebrating can wait,” he muttered.

  Hans stood silently for a moment, absorbing the situation.

  “I understand,” he finally said, voice low. “Shall I give it a try?”

  Reina looked up from the scattered documents on her desk, eyes tired, sharp. “How confident are you?”

  Hans smirked. “Very.”

  “I see. Anything you want to add?” She asked.

  “I’ll go alone. Investigate solo. No shadows on me.”

  She straightened. “No can do. Someone might target you. You’re not strong enough yet.”

  “That’s touching, Master,” Hans said with mock hurt. “People are focussed on elites scouring through tracks. I’d go unnoticed and —I’ve waded through darker waters than petty robbers.”

  “Those are not petty robbers. They’re killers.” Reina narrowed her eyes. “You think it’s just theft? Don’t you see how clean their tracks are?”

  “It may be targeted murders. Disguised. Trust me on this. I’m good at tracking things people try to hide.”

  Silence stretched between them before Reina finally exhaled.

  “Fine. Find them. But do not get hurt.”

  Hans chuckled darkly. “I’ll be back soon.”

  “Wait.” Reina stood, walked to a drawer, and pulled something out. “Take this.”

  It was her own sword. Worn, well-maintained—not a blessed blade, not cursed, but personal.

  Hans took it reverently. Unsheathing it just slightly, he saw the gleam of steel. “This is…was your sword.”

  Reina didn’t look at him. “I trained with it for years. Never lent it to anyone. Don’t make me regret it.”

  He nodded, a smile fading. “I won’t.”

  The trail began at the first crime scene. Hans had cloaked himself, his red eyes scanning the air for lingering threads of violent mana. He had additionally borrowed a stealth robe, capable of faking different mana attributes. Reina’s sword hung by his side like a silent badge of authority—and protection.

  "Mana’s... torn here. This confirms—even elves aren’t capable of seeing mana—they could feel it but ManaVision—only Grandma other than me could use it. And hers are not even as precise as mine.” he muttered. “Well, talking to myself apart. These are definitely not normal thieves.”

  The tracks pulled him toward an abandoned building on the outskirts. Before entering, he reverted to his elf form—Theodred. And before he did, he had scanned with ManaVision. No traps.

  Still, he was cautious.

  Too cautious, maybe.

  Because the moment he stepped through the door—

  Black.

  Damn. I played myself.

  ”When his eyes fluttered open, a sharp pain rang in his skull. His arms were bound in thick chains, metal damp with blood and aura.

  That was careless of me. No mana doesn’t mean no one is home—they could be hiding very well. Stupid.

  Across from him sat two men in whispering conversation.

  “Where did this brat come from?”

  “No clue. Just walked into the hideout. So we knocked him out.”

  “Idiot. Look at that sword. That’s the queen’s personal make. You know the elites are tracking the fake trail. Do you want the damn palace knocking on our door? Torch lighting the path, will you?”

  “So what? Kill him, toss the body.”

  “No. We pack up and vanish. I'm not risking a royal response.”

  Hans let out a slow breath through his nose.

  That sword… saved my life.

  Reina had known. She always thought ahead.

  But these weren’t just random criminals. They recognised royal arms. Spoke with strategy. Knew how to disappear.

  They weren’t thugs.

  They were professionals.

  He passed out again.

  When he came to, the place was empty. Silent. Clean.

  He activated his aura. The first, second, and third skills flared to life, sharpening his senses. Not a hair was out of place. Every trace had been scrubbed.

  “Damn it…” he growled, rising shakily to his feet.

  He’d overestimated himself. Got caught. And now they were gone.

  He couldn’t return. Not after that. He’d boasted. If he came back empty-handed, he’d lose more than face.

  Under his cloak, he shifted back to human form and pulled his hood low. No witnesses.

  The trail resumed—barely. Flecks of corrupted mana clung to the earth like oil. Moving fast. Too fast. But he couldn’t risk using the wind pendant. A flying elf was too easy to spot.

  Instead, he borrowed a horse from a nearby guard post, sent a short report to Reina—leaving out his capture—and rode.

  Two days. Little sleep. Constant tracking.

  Still no end.

  “I’ll finish this before Chris and Deli arrive,” he muttered, teeth clenched. “No matter what.”

  On the third day, he found them.

  They’d regrouped. Careless.

  Big mistake.

  Hans shot off the horse like a cannon, sword flashing in the sun. His movements were light, merciless, surgical.

  One slash—clean bisect.

  Another—artery torn.

  Three robbers died before they could even scream. The rest panicked and scattered into the woods.

  But Hans didn’t follow all of them.

  He knew better.

  One of them had barked orders. Given signals.

  Leader.

  He disappeared into the trees, patient, silent. No transformation. No traces. He couldn’t leave evidence behind—not if he wanted to keep his true self hidden.

  He stalked the leader for days. Like a ghost.

  There has to be a rendezvous point. There always is. And I’d be there first, waiting.