Kent closed the door to his room with a quiet click, letting the faint scent of aged wood and cheap perfume from downstairs fade into the background. Finally, peace. He had endured enough humiliation for one night — paying two hundred gold coins for scratches on "rare" furniture and dwarven plates that, in his honest opinion, looked like they came from a roadside bazaar. His body ached, his patience was worn thin, and his mind buzzed with the thought of Daren's greedy little smile.
He had just lowered himself onto the creaky bed when a faint bzzzzz broke the silence.
Kent froze.
The sound came again, faint but distinct. He turned his head toward the small table near the window. Resting there was a black crystal plate no larger than his palm, etched with faint runic lines — his communication artifact. It buzzed again, a faint white light pulsing across its surface.
His brows furrowed. This was not the time for casual chatter.
He reached for it, the cold touch of the artifact making his fingers tense. His eyes narrowed when he saw the glowing emblem in the center — Headquarters.
His mood instantly darkened.
Kent hesitated. Picking up here, inside the inn, could be dangerous. Last time he hadn't put too much thought in it and picked up the call, but he had felt as if he was bring watched. And if Daren truly had ties to some hidden faction… Kent wasn't going to test it.
With a quiet exhale, Kent slipped the artifact into his robe and rose from the bed. His footsteps made no sound as he moved to the door, senses on high alert.
The night air outside the inn was crisp, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and distant pine. Moonlight painted the cobblestone streets silver, and the chatter from the inn had long since dulled into muffled murmurs.
Kent walked quickly but casually, keeping his presence suppressed. The buzzing artifact in his pocket pulsed again, impatient.
He turned a corner, slipping past a row of shuttered shops, then out into the quieter outskirts of the town. The dirt road soon gave way to packed earth, then to the soft crunch of fallen leaves beneath his boots.
Within minutes, he reached the treeline. The forest stretched ahead, its branches whispering in the wind.
Kent stepped in without hesitation.
The jungle was alive with faint sounds — the chirping of night insects, the occasional hoot of a distant owl-like beast, the rustle of unseen creatures in the underbrush. Kent's eyes swept over the shadows, his spiritual sense extended just far enough to catch movement without alerting stronger beasts.
It wasn't long before he came across a lake. Its surface shimmered under the moonlight, reflecting silver ripples. The air was cooler here, damp and clean.
Kent let out a slow breath. This place was isolated enough.
He leaned his back against a sturdy tree trunk, adjusting his robe. With a flick of his wrist, the communication artifact floated into his palm, runes glowing faintly.
But before he could channel a drop of spiritual energy into it—
The ground beneath him… shifted.
Kent's instincts flared. He tried to step forward, but the space around him twisted, the tree bark pressing against his back turning into something cold and smooth. The forest sounds vanished — replaced by a deep, suffocating silence.
Light warped. His vision blurred.
A cold sensation wrapped around him, like icy water pouring over his skin.
When it cleared, he was no longer standing in the forest.
---
The air here was fragrant, like flowers.
Kent found himself in a dark room, the only illumination coming from the windows, which had a protection formation on them. The marble walls were smooth and unnervingly clean, their white surfaces faintly glimmering under the light.
Their was a table, a wardrobe, some shelves and a... Bed with heart shaped pillows.
His first thought was a bed room.
Kent instinctively reached inward to stir his cultivation base.
Nothing happened.
His eyes widened.
Again, he tried, pushing spiritual energy toward his meridians — and again, nothing. It was as if his core had been sealed shut. No aura, no qi circulation. His cultivation… completely suppressed.
"Shit…" Kent muttered under his breath.
The sensation was unnerving. For someone used to the constant hum of power beneath their skin, the emptiness was like losing a limb. His senses felt duller, his body heavier, his mind sharper in its unease.
Kent clenched his fists, scanning the room.
The only openings were the windows but protected by the formation and two gates, which was not a good option for making an exit.
The moonlight streaming through the windows revealed faint markings on the floor — circular, intricate patterns, inscribed with symbols he didn't immediately recognize. Suppression formations, perhaps, but older and more complex than any he had seen.
A prickling ran up his spine.
This wasn't random. Someone had teleported him here. Someone who knew how to cut off a cultivator's strength entirely.
And that meant… whoever it was, they had a purpose for him.
Kent swallowed, his thoughts racing.
Was it the Headquarters themselves? A trap? Daren's doing? The Royal Family?
He hated this — the uncertainty, the not knowing. Unknowns were always the worst kind of danger.
The communication artifact…
His hand shot to his robe. It was still there, cold and inert. When he tried to activate it, the runes stayed dark. Suppressed as well.
So much for calling for backup.
He took a step forward, the faint sound of his boot echoing unnaturally in the still air. His shadow stretched long and thin under the moonlight, almost unnervingly so.
Somewhere in the darkness, he thought he heard a faint drip… drip… drip. Water? Or something else?
Kent's lips pressed into a thin line. Whoever had brought him here — they'd made the first move. But he wasn't going to panic. Not yet.
He leaned against the nearest wall, feeling its chill seep into his skin. His mind shifted into calculation mode, cataloguing every detail of the room, every possible weakness in the suppression field.
He would wait. Watch. And when the chance came, he would strike — with or without his cultivation.
---
He heard the creaking of the door, someone was coming.
And Kent knew, without a doubt, that he was royally FUCKED!