Maurien exchanged a glance with Ludger, thoughts aligning in the dark.

Not slaves to break. Slaves to use. Weapons in chains.

Kaela muttered, “Someone’s building an army.”

Harkun still didn’t look at them, but his voice finally emerged. low, rough, threaded with restrained fury.

“They took my cousin,” he said. “A cub of eighteen winters. First in her age circle to challenge a bear and win.”

Silence swallowed the group, heavy as night fog.

Ludger’s jaw tightened, not from sympathy, though it was there, but from understanding. This wasn’t charity. This wasn’t diplomacy. This was personal. Slavers were taking future leaders, future fighters. Beastmen of talent, not convenience. And if similar Vanishings were happening in the Empire and Velis as well… Someone was collecting pieces from three nations. For war. For revolt. For something far worse. Ludger spoke quietly, voice like a promise etched in stone.

“We’ll find them.”

Harkun glanced at him finally, eyes fierce and blood-raw.

“If we do, we kill those responsible.”

Ludger didn’t blink. “Agreed.”

Kaela grinned darkly. Renvar swallowed. Maurien’s eyes glinted beneath moonlight, unreadable, but sharp. Ragan rolled his shoulders like a lion preparing to hunt. Sivra tilted her head toward distant lanterns, silent as wind.

The warehouse roofs of Sarnwick shimmered ahead like teeth.

If there were slave paths here, if hunters vanished into crates and chains, Ludger intended to uncover them. And if the people in charge were still breathing by sunrise… That would change. Tonight would be quiet. Tomorrow, maybe less so. The hunt was no longer just investigation, it had become vengeance.

Sarnwick, up close, felt like a different world from the Groves. Narrow alleys wrapped around squat warehouses, lantern smoke hung thick as wet cloth, and the air always tasted faintly like iron filings. The group moved like shadows through it, six figures slipping between crates, rooftop beams, and muddy roads with steps that left no footprint deeper than dew.

Ludger led from the front. Eyes forward, attention inward. Every few breaths, he pressed his heel just slightly to sense vibrations. Seismic Sense spread through soil and stone like ripples through silk. He felt the heartbeats of distant guards leaning against walls, rats chewing through grain sacks, drunks snoring near gutters, even a cat stalking rats behind the fish market. He used it like a map, turning corners before patrols arrived, leading them around sleeping workers and late-night dockhands.

Maurien and Kaela handled the other half of the work. Maurien spread threads of wind mana like spider silk through alleys, warning of wards or faint magical fields. Kaela sniffed out the feel of runes, the static in the air that meant enchantment here, trap there

, or alarm if breached. Sivra scouted from roof beams and gutter edges, gliding silent as falling ash. Ragan and Harkun tracked scent trails, but smoke drowned most of them within minutes.

Hours passed. One warehouse after another. Rooftop to alley to ship hull. No cages. No hidden basements. No smugglers. No beastmen scent.

Just goods. Ordinary trade. Iron, salt, cloth. Probably few shady deals between merchants and guards, but nothing tied to the missing.

By the fourth hour, Renvar looked like he wanted to crawl into a barrel and sleep. Even Kaela, usually too restless to feel fatigue, yawned while wiping sweat from her brow.

When the first hint of dawn bled pale gray across the sea, Ludger guided them beyond the town’s edge. They moved inland fast, through patches of tall grass, across dirt roads, past farms where roosters were still sleeping. Only when Sarnwick was a distant smear in the mist did Ludger finally stop.

“We rest here,” he said, kneeling.

He pressed both hands into the earth. Mana surged through soil. Moments later, the ground parted silently and stone reshaped itself downward, forming a shelter beneath the surface, reinforced with smooth walls, a sloped entrance, and enough space for everyone to lie down without touching elbows.

A clean cavern. Dry. Warm. Hidden.

Kaela crossed her arms and grinned tiredly.

“Oh, wonderful,” she muttered with theatrical sarcasm. “I didn’t miss sleeping in underground holes at all.”

Maurien arched a brow. “You slept fine last time.”

Kaela shot her a look. “I also slept fine in a tavern with pillows and alcohol. One of those options is better.”

Ragan inspected the structure by running claws against the stone. “Strange magic. Earth that listens like a servant..”

Harkun lowered himself to the ground with a long exhale, exhaustion finally visible in his shoulders. “A night hunt without prey is still a hunt. We rest. Dawn is no time for decisions.”

Ludger sat last, leaning back against the stone. His expression unreadable, mind clearly turning gears. Sarnwick offered nothing. No traces. No rumors. Nothing useful.

That meant one of three things: Trafficking didn’t happen here. It moved through without stopping long. Someone hid it too well.

And Coria, three days north , was where answers would surface. As the group settled into blankets and cloaks, Ludger closed his eyes but didn’t sleep immediately. His mind replayed every alley, every heartbeat, every building structure.

He expected trouble. He hoped for a trail. What he got was silence, and silence was more unsettling than noise. Kaela mumbled from her bedroll, half-asleep already. “If Coria doesn’t give us something, I’m punching someone.”

Ludger’s eyes finally drifted shut.

“Then punch quietly.”

Their breaths slowed one by one, until only wind crossed the grass above. The hunt had no scent yet. But tomorrow, the trail will continue north.

Three days blurred into a slow, grinding march north.

The road from Sarnwick to Coria wound through low hills and fields. Smoke stacks dotted the horizon like iron spears, feeding gray plumes into the sky, unmistakable marks of the Velis League’s forges. Along the route, the group stopped at three villages and one roadside trade hub, checking for rumors, every tavern whisper, every guardhouse board.

Missing people? None reported. Foreign buyers? Just merchants and academy students. Suspicious shipments? Only grain, steel, mana reagents. Not even a scent trace of beastmen beyond their own party.

By the end of the third town, Ludger found himself sitting on a fountain edge, elbows on knees, watching Harkun attempt to track scents near a butchery stall while Renvar bribed kids with fruit for gossip. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing again. It felt like trying to grip smoke.

He wasn’t used to slow hunts. If he wanted something, he forced a path, broke through walls, or shaped stone into answers. But here? A trail that didn’t exist was worse than an enemy with a blade.

As they left the final settlement and the great city finally came into view, Coria, shining silver and copper under afternoon sun, Ludger broke the silence without looking back.

“Are we doing this wrong?”

Maurien, walking beside him, didn’t respond immediately. She simply opened her palm, letting a swirl of wind stir dust at her feet.

“You’re thinking like a fighter,” he said. “Kidnappers are rats. You don’t catch them by kicking every hole, you wait for movement or scent.”

Kaela walked ahead, waving lazily for emphasis.

“He’s right. Underground groups vanish for weeks at a time. No clues, no rumors, just ghosts. Then suddenly, bang, someone slips, or a shipment moves at the wrong hour and everything catches fire.”

Ludger raised an eyebrow. “And that’s normal?”

Kaela shrugged. “Annoying, but normal. I had hunts that took a month before anything surfaced. When it does, though?” Her smile sharpened like a knife. “There’s usually a big explosion of activity. Lots of running, screaming, you know… fun.”

Maurien nodded once, tone calm and certain.

“When the silence breaks, it breaks violently.”

Ragan grinned, showing big lion teeth. “A long prowl often leads to quick kill.”

Harkun only muttered, “Patience sharpens claws.”

Ludger inhaled, letting the frustration cool. He wasn’t failing, this was simply a different battlefield. No swords in hand. No target to strike. Just threads to find and follow until they led to someone’s throat. They crested the final hill, and Coria unfolded beneath them.

A massive city of rune-lit towers, smoke factories, sprawling markets, and a river splitting it like a spine. Iron bridges arched over water, boats gliding underneath like beetles. Mana lamps glowed even under daylight. The academy district shimmered with layered barriers. People streamed through gates like ants, humans, students, merchants.

A place of invention. A place of secrets. Kaela stretched her arms.

“Well. Welcome to Coria. Either we find a lead here,” she looked over her shoulder, eyes glinting like mischief and danger combined, “or we burn someone’s house down until they talk.”

Ludger stepped forward, cloak stirring in the breeze.

“No burning yet,” he said. “We find a thread first.”

Then, almost too quietly for anyone but Maurien to hear:

“But when we do, we pull it hard.”

They watched Coria from afar until the last streaks of sunlight died behind smokestacks. Night crept in thick, the city’s glow replacing stars with amber haze. Mist rolled in from the river, mixing with industrial fumes until the whole skyline looked like a smoldering forge.

Only then did Ludger kneel and place his palm to the dirt. Earth mana rippled outward like a silent pulse. Moments later, an elevated platform of stone rose beneath their feet, smooth as polished marble. The group stepped onto it, bracing against night wind as Ludger lifted them into the sky with a thought.

No ropes. No sound louder than shifting grit. Just raw geomancy carrying them above walls and watchtowers like a ghost ship.

The flight wasn’t long, Velis barriers shimmered faintly below, but the haze of smoke acted like a curtain, blinding most sky lookouts. 

Maurien whispered, “Too noisy. Too many eyes.”

Ludger corrected their course, slipping through a gap between two towering chimneys. From the ground, they would’ve been invisible, just another shadow in the fumes.

By the time they crossed the inner district, all three beastmen were struggling not to glare at the air itself. Ragan actually covered his nose with his forearm, muttering something in a guttural dialect. Sivra’s feathers puffed in agitation, wings twitching as if she wanted to fly back to forests immediately. Harkun grimaced, jaw clenched tight.

“The air is…” he growled under his breath, “unnatural. Like breathing metal shavings.”

Kaela snickered. “Welcome to Velis. Where we trade lungs for pretty inventions.”

Maurien’s cloak rippled with wind magic, filtering her breathing slightly. Still, even she squinted like she disliked it. Ludger didn’t comment. He was already guiding them downward.

Their landing point came into view, a half-buried abandoned structure behind an academy district warehouse, shielded from most angles by collapsed masonry and overgrown pipes. Hard to see. Easy to forget existed. Perfect for drop-offs, interrogations, and… negotiations.

He had used it before with Linne and Dalan when dealing with contraband, captured spies. Tonight, it was still there, though different. The platform dissolved as they stepped inside, and Ludger felt it immediately. The room had changed.

Once, it held rusty chains, discarded shackles, and a lonely chair and table, a temporary prison of sorts. Now, neat stacks of wooden crates filled the corner, sealed tight and freshly stamped with trade markings. Tools hung on walls. Barrels lined the left side. Even the floor was cleaner than before.

Someone had been using this place recently.

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