Chapter 181: The Birthday Cake

The dim light of Dren’s laboratory pulsed softly as the scrying globe hovered before him, its surface rippling with images from Grom’s office.

Mira’s voice echoed clearly.

“…so I named it Dawnveil Crest.”

Dren leaned forward, fingers steepled, eyes gleaming as the image of the silver brooch appeared within the globe. The milky-white gem glowed faintly even through the projection.

“So it solidifies light,” he murmured, lips curling upward. “Forms barriers… purifies… stabilizes.”

His quill scratched rapidly across the notebook on his desk, runes and formulas piling atop one another.

“Yes… yes, that’s it. A stabilizer. Exactly what I need.”

The corners of his mouth lifted further.

“With this, the metal won’t collapse. The reaction can be regulated. My Heart of the Deep Forge will finally be complete .”

His gaze flicked back to the globe just in time to see Mira handing the artifact back to Zane.

Dren’s smile twitched.

“…No. Don’t give it to him.”

He watched Zane closely now, eyes narrowing.

“I still don’t know how strong you really are,” Dren muttered. “But anyone who speaks to old man like that… is no ordinary professor.”

His fingers tightened around the edge of the desk.

“If that artifact stays with you, taking it will be troublesome.”

Then—

Zane’s voice reached his ears again.

“No, you can keep it… for research.”

Dren froze.

Then he laughed quietly.

“A fool,” he whispered. “An absolute fool.”

His eyes shifted to Mira’s image as she clutched the brooch, her face lighting up with excitement.

“Taking it from you will be far easier,” he said softly. “An A-rank professor, yes… but easy for vassel. ”

He reached out and snapped the scrying globe shut. The images vanished instantly, plunging the room into silence.

Dren straightened, already moving.

“I’ll need assassins,” he muttered, flipping open his notebook again. “And I have to provide the information to the base .”

His pen flew, writing a coded message only a handful of people in the world could read.

“To the base. Priority retrieval. Target: Dawnveil Crest.”

He closed the notebook, a thin smile stretching across his face as he stepped toward the exit with the notebook.

“Tonight,” he said to the empty room, “the Heart takes its first step toward perfection.”

Dren left his laboratory without looking back.

The academy gates loomed behind him as he stepped into the city proper, the noise of Gravundar swallowing him whole. Steam vents hissed, mana-lamps flickered, and the rhythmic clang of metal filled the streets—but his mind was already far away.

Tonight, he thought.

Tonight, I will get what I want.

—

Back in Grom’s office, the door closed with a heavy thud.

Zane stood calmly near the desk, hands loose, posture relaxed—far too relaxed for what he had just revealed.

“…An uninvited guest will attack Mira tonight.”

Grom stared at him, disbelief flashing across his face.

“What do you mean by that?”

Zane tilted his head slightly. “The replica inside you is still connected.”

Grom stiffened. “Didn’t you say that thing wouldn’t harm me?”

Zane smiled faintly. “Did it harm you?”

The question landed heavier than it should have.

“He was watching,” Zane continued evenly. “All of us. Through you.”

Grom’s breath caught.

“To entice him,” Zane added, almost casually, “I simply gave him what he needed.”

Grom slammed a hand onto the desk. “What are you talking about?!”

Zane stepped closer and placed two fingers against his own temple, shaking his head slowly.

“You still don’t understand,” he said. “Your student, Dren… he’s researching the Heart of the Deep Forge.”

Grom froze.

“N-no,” he said hoarsely. “That’s impossible. Even he knows how unstable it is.”

Zane’s eyes sharpened just a little.

“And you know,” he replied, “that a creator can never stay away from an incomplete invention.”

Silence stretched between them.

“From what I can tell,” Zane went on, “he wants to perfect it. He’s trying to solve the pressure issue by creating a living liquid metal.”

Grom swallowed. “…But he’d be stuck. Without a way to stabilize it.”

Zane didn’t answer.

Grom’s eyes widened slowly, dread creeping in.

“A stabilizer…”

The word barely left his mouth.

“…Dawnveil Crest.”

Zane smiled.

“He’ll need it,” he said simply. “And I don’t think he’ll move personally.”

Grom’s jaw clenched.

“He’ll use someone else,” Zane continued. “A warrior. Someone expendable. Someone provided to him.”

Grom’s voice dropped to a whisper.

“…Vassel.”

“Exactly.”

The realization hit hard.

“You’ve made Mira a target,” Grom said, anger bleeding through his shock. “If something happens to her—”

“Nothing will happen to her,” Zane cut in sharply.

His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried absolute certainty.

“I guarantee it.”

Grom exhaled slowly, shoulders sagging.

“…Dren,” he muttered. “I still can’t believe it. That he would betray me.”

Zane watched him quietly.

“What’s your story with him?”

Grom leaned back, eyes unfocused, drifting into the past.

“I found him alone,” he said after a moment. “The sole survivor of a dwarven village… annihilated by humans during the war with Solvanyr. He lost both his parents.”

His hands curled into fists.

“I raised him. Taught him everything I knew. He had talent—real talent.”

A faint, bitter smile crossed his face.

“Then Mira came. From Valdoria. Another genius. Different, but just as bright.”

He closed his eyes.

“My two disciples… I truly believed they would surpass me.”

His voice cracked.

“This is my fault. I made that accursed Heart of the Deep Forge.”

Zane shook his head slowly.

“It’s not the fault of an artifact,” he said. “Nor of the inventor.”

The room fell silent.

—

Dren moved through the city with practiced ease, blending into the crowd as if he belonged there.

Steam vents hissed along the streets, mana-lamps flickering against iron walls. He stopped in front of a modest bar tucked between two massive foundries, its sign etched with worn runes and a carved fox sigil.

He stepped inside.

The air was warm, thick with the scent of alcohol and metal dust. Dwarves, beastmen, and a few humans sat scattered across the room, laughing, drinking, arguing. Behind the counter stood the bartender—an orange-haired fox beastman, fox ears twitching slightly as he polished a glass. His bushy tail swayed lazily behind him, sharp fox eyes paired with a pleasant, easy smile.

“Welcome,” the fox bartender said smoothly. “What can I get you?”

Dren returned the smile, friendly and harmless.

“Hey, boss. I’ll have a special order.”

The bartender’s ears twitched. “Oh?” He nodded toward the menu. “You can choose from there.”

Dren shook his head lightly.

“Oh no. I’ll have my special order.”

He tapped the notebook at his side. “I’ve got the recipe written down.”

The fox bartender chuckled. “My, my. Sounds interesting.”

He leaned in a little. “Special occasion?”

Dren’s smile widened just a fraction.

“Ah yes. Tomorrow’s a birthday party.”

He paused, eyes half-lidded.

“I finally found the perfect cake for it. Now I just need the drinks to go with it.”

The bartender’s smile never faded.

“And the cake?”

Dren nodded.

“Oh, the baker worked very hard on it. I’ll make sure she’s… properly paid.”

Understanding flickered in the fox beastman’s eyes.

“Very well,” he said calmly. “Your drinks will be delivered to the address along with the cake. A little later than usual. Would you like to pay baker..?”

Dren reached into his notebook, tore out a page, and slid it across the counter.

“Of course. I’ll pay the baker.”

He turned and walked out without another word.

The bar door closed behind him.

The fox bartender set the glass down slowly.

“Washroom break,” he called casually to the customers.

He stepped into the back, closed the door, and pressed his palm against the stone wall. A faint red magic circle bloomed beneath his hand, runes spinning silently.

“Dispatch five top assassins,” he said flatly.

“Retrieve the item. Kill the target.”

The circle pulsed once.

“I’ll send the details.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep