The moment Draven's foot touched the edge of the wall—
He felt it.
A shift in air pressure.
A displacement in the current of mana.
A presence.
Too close.
From the corner of his eye, a figure materialized beside him.
No warning shout.
No visible buildup of power.
No drawn blade or raised weapon.
Just a fist already in motion.
It came straight for his head.
Draven reacted instantly.
He aborted his forward launch mid-push, spine bending sharply as he twisted off-balance on purpose. His body folded backward in a controlled arc, boots skidding against stone as he let gravity pull him just enough.
The punch tore through the space where his skull had been.
The air detonated.
A sonic shockwave exploded outward, cracking the reinforced stone along the parapet and sending nearby guards stumbling violently backward. Hairline fractures spidered across the wall beneath the impact point.
The force screamed past him.
Fast.
Precise.
Lethal.
Draven dropped back onto the wall instead of launching away from it.
Balanced.
Watching.
The attacker stood fully revealed now.
A woman.
Dark silver hair lashed wildly in the wind, strands catching moonlight like threads of steel. Her blue eyes were sharp—locked onto him with unwavering focus.
No hesitation.
No wasted motion.
She stepped in again.
Another punch.
The air compressed violently around her fist before detonating forward in a concentrated sonic blast. The space itself seemed to distort, bending inward for a fraction of a second before erupting.
Draven shifted—
Not backward.
Sideways.
The blast ripped past him, carving a deep groove across the wall and shattering stone in its wake. Debris sprayed outward in jagged fragments.
He closed the distance instead.
Before she could fully retract her arm, he caught her wrist.
Grip tight.
Precise.
Controlled.
He pivoted, stepping onto her shoulder in one smooth motion, then onto her back—using her own forward momentum as leverage.
And pushed off.
He launched away from the wall.
But she reacted instantly.
No surprise.
No imbalance.
She twisted with unnatural speed, mana surging along her arm as she hurled another punch toward him midair.
The air shrieked.
A compressed sonic wave tore toward his chest.
Draven spun sharply, drawing his limbs in to reduce drag. His body rotated just enough—
The blast grazed past him, missing by inches.
Wind pressure tore at his clothing, snapping fabric violently.
He steadied mid-fall.
Their eyes locked for a split second.
Blue—cold, focused, analytical.
She hovered at the wall's edge, balanced effortlessly atop fractured stone, poised to pursue.
Draven lifted one hand.
And flipped her off.
Then he turned away.
---
He accelerated the instant his feet struck the ground.
Mana surged through his legs in sharp, controlled bursts. The terrain blurred beneath him as he tore across open land. Wind roared in his ears, whipping his coat behind him.
Behind him, the wall receded rapidly.
He didn't look back.
But he calculated.
That punch.
That compression.
The density of the sonic discharge.
The instantaneous manifestation.
And the fact that she had remained perfectly stable atop a mana-reactive defensive barrier while releasing that level of force.
He muttered under his breath,
"…Damn bitch."
There was no anger in it.
Only assessment.
Her control hadn't been sloppy.
It hadn't been brute force.
It had been refined.
Condensed.
Layered.
Sixth Star.
Rune Master tier.
At minimum.
Possibly higher.
The air distortion alone had fractured reinforced stone without dispersing outward inefficiently. The blast radius had been controlled—focused forward with minimal waste.
That wasn't a standard border captain.
That wasn't some overconfident knight.
That was a stationed deterrent.
A real one.
Draven's eyes narrowed as he continued moving.
If she had pursued immediately at full speed, the situation would have become… inconvenient.
But she hadn't.
Which meant one of two things.
She was calculating.
Or she was confident he wasn't worth an extended chase.
He increased his distance regardless.
There was no reason to test which it was.
Sixth Star knight.
He wasn't prepared for prolonged engagement at that level.
Not yet.
At his current state—
Fifty percent output.
Not enough for drawn combat against someone like her.
The wall vanished behind rolling hills and dark terrain.
He didn't slow.
Didn't relax.
Didn't waste breath.
Just forward.
Fast.
Before anyone else decided to appear.
---
Back atop the border wall, the woman remained exactly where he had left her.
Wind tugged at her dark silver hair. The cracked stone beneath her boots bore the scars of her own sonic discharge.
Her blue eyes stayed fixed on the horizon where Draven had disappeared.
No frustration.
No anger.
Only calculation.
The surrounding guards kept their distance, unease evident in their posture.
A knight in polished armor rushed toward her, stopping several paces behind before dropping to one knee.
"Commander Seraphine."
She did not turn at once.
"You are here," the knight continued, slightly breathless. "We detected the intrusion, but—"
"I saw it."
Her voice was calm.
Measured.
Controlled.
Only then did Commander Seraphine angle her head slightly.
"Prepare the airships."
The kneeling knight stiffened.
"…Commander?"
"Now."
Her gaze returned to the distant darkness beyond the border.
"And send word to the capital immediately."
The knight hesitated for only a fraction of a second.
"What message shall we relay?"
Her eyes narrowed faintly.
"The son of the Demon King has entered Eryndor."
The wind howled softly across the parapet.
The knight's breath caught—but discipline held firm.
"At once, Commander."
He rose swiftly and hurried off to carry out the orders.
Seraphine remained where she stood.
Watching the land beyond the border.
Her expression unreadable.
Her stance unmoving.
The hunt had begun.
---
Draven did not slow as he ran.
He released a thin, controlled pulse of mana into the earring.
"Vaelith."
Her voice responded almost instantly.
"Yes, my lord."
"Location."
A brief pause.
"We have crossed fully into the next territory. I am in a town several miles from the border. The young master and the miss are safe."
Draven's eyes narrowed slightly.
She had covered significant distance in a short time.
Efficient.
Disciplined.
No unnecessary engagements.
Good.
"No pursuit?" he asked.
"None detected," she replied. "We remained low, as instructed. No confrontation."
He processed the information quickly.
Distance created safety.
But distance also created separation.
"Stay put," he said evenly. "Do not move unless necessary."
"Yes, my lord."
"I will arrive shortly."
"As you command."
The connection closed.
Draven pushed more mana into his legs, increasing his pace just slightly—careful not to destabilize his reserves.
The border was behind him.
But response would not be slow.
Airships.
Tracking units.
A Sixth Star commander already alerted.
He needed to regroup before the net began tightening.
And he would.