Chapter 8: Echoes in the Corridor
Hours later, the sharp scent of soot still clung to Captain Philip Hanssen's armor. He stood behind Commander Gregor in the Prince's cold study, still feeling the residual adrenaline from a battle that had nearly claimed his life. The victory felt strange, more like a fever dream than a military achievement.
"The mission was a success, Your Highness," Gregor reported, his hoarse voice flat, masking the storm of confusion within him. "The northern Echo Bridge has been destroyed. According to Captain Hanssen's report, their supply line is indeed completely severed."
Eldrin, sitting in his oversized chair, gave only a short nod. His face remained expressionless, a mask of calm he was forcing into place with all his remaining strength. Inside, he was screaming.
It worked? That haphazard plan I spewed out in a panic actually worked? Has this world gone mad?
"However, there are some troubling details," Gregor continued, his eyes fixed on the prince, trying to read the slightest reaction. "The enemy we faced were not common bandits. They were organized, trained, and their equipment was on par with the Kaelos Kingdom's regular army. Our forces were outnumbered and severely pushed back."
Philip Hanssen couldn't help but chime in, a hint of enthusiasm slipping into his professional tone. "We wouldn't have succeeded if not for an unexpected intervention, Your Highness. An unknown individual, a hooded swordsman, appeared and neutralized most of the enemy force single-handedly. His speed... was unnatural."
Eldrin raised a faint eyebrow, a barely perceptible movement.
A hooded swordsman? What the hell is that? What kind of coincidence is this now?
He felt like he was walking on a thin sheet of ice over a deep chasm. At any moment, it could crack and he would fall. He had to end this before they asked more questions, before they realized he had absolutely no idea what was going on.
"Good," was all that came out of Eldrin's mouth, his voice cold and brief.
In his mind, he cursed. Good? What's good about it? Everyone almost died. I need a drink. Why do they keep staring at me like that?
"Report received. You are dismissed."
The two commanders bowed and walked out. The heavy wooden door closed behind them, leaving Eldrin alone in the deafening silence.
In the corridor, Philip could no longer contain himself. "A brilliant strategy, Commander! Burning the bridge to lure them out of hiding, and then—somehow—already having a hidden ally waiting there to crush them! The Prince must have planned it down to the smallest detail!"
Gregor did not reply. He kept walking, the sound of his armor echoing in the empty stone corridor. His mind was spinning.
A coincidence? Help from an unknown figure at the most crucial location and time? His military logic, honed over decades, rejected the notion. The battlefield did not know coincidences of that magnitude.
Or... did the Prince already know someone would be there to help? The thought seemed even more absurd. The boy never even left the castle. His knowledge of the outside world should be nil.
But the result... the result was undeniable.
He thought back to the order. Brief, cold, and brutally efficient. Then he remembered his father, King Alaric. The King was a charismatic hero, but his strategies on the battlefield were often cold and unpredictable. Could this be it? Gregor thought, a desperate hope beginning to grow in his weary heart. Could it be that the father's fire had finally ignited in the son, but in a different way, a quieter, colder way?
For the first time, the doubt that had burdened him for so long did not feel like disappointment, but like a profound mystery.
Two days later, in the dusty training yard of the Royal Guard, Captain Philip Hanssen sighed. The incident at the bridge had proven one thing: they were desperately short of truly skilled soldiers. The remaining veterans were old, and the new recruits were too green.
That's when he saw him.
A young man with black hair, perhaps only seventeen, was signing up as a new recruit. His name was Cain. A wanderer, he said. A man of few words, his demeanor polite but maintaining a cool distance.
In that afternoon's training session, his talent stood out like a diamond in the mud. "Cain" possessed no brute strength, but his movements were the embodiment of efficiency. He faced three veteran guards at once. He didn't attack. He merely reacted. A minimal parry that used his opponent's momentum to make them stumble. A sidestep so fluid it seemed like an illusion. A swift twist of the wrist to disarm them before they knew what had happened.
Philip was deeply impressed. This young man didn't fight; he resolved conflicts.
That very evening, he reported to Commander Gregor.
"He has a natural talent, Commander. Perhaps the best I've ever seen," Philip reported, his voice slightly hesitant as he tried to frame his next words. "Honestly, Commander... the efficiency of his movements... his precision... it somehow reminds me of the hooded figure at the bridge. It's probably just a coincidence, but his talent is on a different level."
Gregor looked at the brief profile for "Cain." A wanderer with no clear background, appearing out of nowhere just when they needed him most. His suspicion was piqued. But on the other hand, Vaelmont's need was more urgent.
"Very well," Gregor said finally, a decision forming in his mind. "Place him in the guard unit for the west wing corridor. Someone with his ability should be positioned where it matters most."
If he is indeed the Prince's ally, this strengthens our defenses, Gregor thought. If he is an enemy, it is better to have him where I can watch him.
Finally.
Caelan Valtherion thought, leaning against the cold corridor wall. The name 'Cain' felt foreign on his tongue, but it was a small price to pay to be this close. To be sure. To see with his own eyes. The man behind that door... was a puzzle he had to solve, no matter the risk.
The study door opened, and Prince Eldrin Vaelmont stepped out, walking past him, presumably toward the library.
For three seconds that felt like an hour, Caelan performed a total analysis.
Posture... slightly slouched, relaxed. No tension of a warrior.
Gait... light, but untrained. No trace of military discipline.
Breathing... calm, shallow. Heartbeat... normal.
Physically, he appeared to be a typical nobleman who had never worked a hard day in his life. Weak. Exactly as the rumors had suggested.
Then, Caelan did the most important thing. He extended his Aether senses, activating the "Focused Aether Sight" he had honed over nine lifetimes, trying to feel the flow of energy within the prince's body. He searched for any trace of hidden power, a suppressed aura, a camouflaged Aether circulation, anything.
The result... was nil.
There was nothing.
Not expertly suppressed Aether. Nor an aura cloaked in high-level illusion magic. In a world pulsing with ambient Mana and the Aether residue from the castle's ancient stones, Prince Eldrin was a blank spot. An absolute void. The flow of Aether in his body was so weak and inactive it was equivalent to a commoner who wasn't even aware of the First Inner Gate.
Eldrin walked past him without a glance and disappeared around the end of the corridor.
Caelan remained frozen in place, but within his mind, a violent storm was raging.
He tried to process the impossible data. One possibility: he was truly empty. A fraud who had gotten miraculously lucky.
No, he thought, dismissing the possibility firmly. The variable I witnessed in the last repetition was real. The power that disrupted a cosmic ritual was real. The order to destroy the bridge also worked. This is not a coincidence.
If the first possibility was wrong, then only one conclusion remained. A conclusion that sent a chill down his spine.
This isn't emptiness. This is... wrong.
His mind, honed by countless bitter experiences, raced. Even a weak Aether practitioner still had a vibration. But this... this was total silence, as if Aether itself never existed. The only conclusion he could think of was that this was an Aether he couldn't read.
My senses found nothing because my senses cannot 'read' this yet.
That was a far more terrifying conclusion. This wasn't about a level of mastery. This was about fundamental nature. It was as if the Prince's Aether Signature existed on a frequency that shouldn't exist in Aethel, like a musical note originating from outside the universe.
Who... or what... is Prince Eldrin Vaelmont?
Caelan let out a silent breath. This puzzle... is far more dangerous. And far more interesting than I could have ever imagined.