As they moved, the cultist gathered the last of the troll corpses and stored them inside his spatial ring.
The clearing emptied.
No bodies.
No traces.
Only torn earth and fading mana lingering in the air.
Then they left.
Aldric rose into the air first, his cloak shifting as he lifted effortlessly above the treeline.
The cultist followed—less graceful, but steady—forcing himself to maintain altitude as they advanced.
Draven did not fly.
He ran.
Fast.
Tree to tree.
Branch to branch.
His movements were precise.
Controlled.
Explosive.
The cat remained tucked securely in one arm.
The contracted slime rested against his wrist, faintly clinging.
Wind cut past his face as the forest blurred around him.
Inside—
He calculated.
All the magic stones he had consumed.
The raw mana forced into his body.
Compressed.
Refined.
Burned into his veins.
Fifty percent.
That was what he had now.
Half of what he required.
Half of what was necessary to create a stable internal mana pool of his own.
But it was not permanent.
Every movement.
Every enhancement.
Every thread of mana he utilized—
Reduced the total.
If he continued fighting recklessly, it would drain.
If he continued hunting like this—
Devouring crystals.
Absorbing power—
He might reach full capacity before that entity was summoned again.
He might not need to wait.
He might not need to rely on external timing.
But there was a flaw.
This situation had been ideal.
Multiple B-rank trolls.
Dense magic cores.
Clustered targets.
That kind of opportunity would not present itself often.
If he continued hunting carelessly—
The results might not repeat themselves.
The risk would increase.
The yield might decrease.
His body could endure the strain.
But unpredictability was inefficient.
Draven leapt across a wide gap between trees.
Landed cleanly.
Continued forward without losing momentum.
Above him, Aldric glanced down briefly.
"You're thinking too loudly," he called.
Draven did not respond.
The forest darkened completely as night settled in.
Fifty percent.
Enough to act.
Not enough to be careless.
He needed the remainder.
But how he obtained it—
That would determine everything.
They continued moving through the forest.
Aldric and the cultist gradually descended as they neared the forest's edge, the canopy thinning until moonlight broke through clearly.
Draven slowed slightly.
Then, without fully stopping, he released a thin strand of mana into his earring.
The connection activated.
A faint pulse.
Then a voice responded within his mind.
"Yes, my lord."
Vaelith.
Draven spoke calmly.
"We are leaving the forest. Regroup at the designated point."
There was no hesitation in her reply.
"Yes, my lord. Preparations are complete. The path ahead is clear."
The link faded.
Draven severed the mana flow.
Moments later, they broke past the treeline.
Open terrain stretched before them beneath the night sky.
A figure stood waiting at a distance.
Vaelith.
She stepped forward as they approached, lowering her head slightly.
"My lord."
Aldric landed beside Draven.
The cultist followed, touching down with less stability than before.
They gathered without further words.
Then, as one, they moved again.
They did not stop.
Not once.
From the moment they regrouped, they advanced at full speed.
Across hills.
Through fractured woodland.
Over rivers without slowing.
Two territories passed beneath them within hours.
Aldric and Vaelith flew ahead in controlled bursts, conserving energy between surges.
Draven ran below, silent and relentless, his steps barely grazing the earth as he moved through the darkness like a shadow given form.
The cultist struggled to maintain altitude.
At first, he forced himself to keep pace.
Pride alone pushing him forward.
Then his breathing grew uneven.
His flight wavered.
Mana consumption caught up to him.
He had expended too much earlier—ritual casting, spatial storage activation, sustained combat movement.
His reserves were nearly depleted.
His speed decreased.
His altitude dipped.
He corrected it—barely.
Aldric glanced sideways and frowned.
The cultist's aura flickered weakly.
Unstable.
Sweat streamed down his face.
His control was deteriorating.
Aldric clicked his tongue in irritation.
"That bastard is definitely going to die at this rate."
The cultist attempted to respond, but he could not spare the breath.
His chest heaved.
His body trembled mid-air.
Another fluctuation rippled through his aura.
He nearly dropped.
Aldric exhaled sharply.
"Useless."
He reduced his speed slightly—but did not fully slow.
"If you fall behind, we're not carrying you."
The cultist clenched his jaw and forced more mana outward—
Too forcefully.
His aura flared in a weak surge, then sputtered violently.
They were still moving fast.
Too fast for someone running on empty.
The night stretched endlessly ahead.
Cold.
Unforgiving.
And the cultist was reaching his limit.
His flight faltered again, his body dipping dangerously before he forced himself upright through sheer will.
Lyriana's voice cut cleanly through the rushing wind.
"His Highness still needs him."
Aldric didn't look at her.
"So?"
"We can't let him die. Or leave him behind."
Now Aldric turned his head slightly, irritation evident in his expression.
"And why are you telling me that?"
Lyriana met his gaze evenly despite the speed they maintained.
"Because you're the only one suited for the task."
Aldric's eyes narrowed.
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
She didn't hesitate.
"You have the reserves. You're barely affected by prolonged output. And you can stabilize others mid-flight without destabilizing your own mana flow."
The cultist dipped again.
Lower this time.
His breathing ragged.
His aura unstable.
Lyriana continued calmly.
"His Highness should not waste mana carrying him. Nor should he slow down."
Aldric's jaw tightened.
"And you think I should?"
"You are the most efficient option."
A beat of silence stretched between them.
Wind roared past.
The cultist's aura flickered weakly once more.
Aldric clicked his tongue in open annoyance.
"…Unbelievable."
He veered sharply mid-air toward the cultist.
"Try not to pass out before I get there," he muttered dryly.
The cultist's control wavered again—
But Aldric caught him by the collar before he could drop further, forcing a measured surge of stabilizing mana into his body.
The cultist gasped as his fall halted abruptly.
Color returned faintly to his face as the external mana reinforced his failing flow.
Aldric shot Lyriana an irritated look.
"All those things you just listed," he snapped, "you can do the exact same damn things."
He adjusted his grip, keeping the cultist suspended beside him.
"You've got control. You've got reserves. You can stabilize someone mid-flight without collapsing your own output."
His eyes narrowed further.
"So why am I the one stuck cleaning up this mess?"